ORN6R 


MKRY-5"TieRNKN 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


k  -♦  TWO  WI 


vyl 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hi 


http://www.archive.org/details/jackhornernovelOOtier 


JACK  HORNER 


A   NOVEL 


MARY   SPEAR  TIERNAN 

AUTHOR   OF    "  HOMOSELLE,"    ETC. 


^^^m 


BOSTON    AND   NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 

1890 


Copyright,  1890, 
By  MARY  S.  TIERNAN. 

AU  rights  reserved. 


The  Riversiile  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,   U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  aad  Printed  by  U.  0.  lloui^litoa  &  Company. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I.    Our  BuGiiEs  sang  Truce 1 

II.  His  First  Star  a  Brass  Button         .        .          8 

III.  He  pulled  out  a  Plum 19 

IV.  The  Minor  Keys 26 

V.   Diplomacy .        .33 

VI.     ICI   ON   PARLE    BaBY-LONISH       ....  41 

VII.  Madame! 49 

VIII.  A  Study  in  Gray 70 

IX.   In  the  Bulrushes 76 

X.  Moonshine 90 

XI.    'TwLXT  THE  Cup  and  the  Lip  ....  103 
XII.   There  's  many  a  Slip 110 

XIII.  The  Son  of  his  Country  .        .        .        .116 

XIV.  The  Ephemeral 125 

XV.  Alas,  Poor  Ghost! 134 

XVI.  A  Complication 140 

XVII.   Bread  versus  Sentiment 153 

XVIII.   Baffled 160 

XIX.   Nervous  Prostration 170 

XX.   For  a  Piece  of  Silver 179 

XXI.   For  Jack's  Sake 190 

XXII.   Love  rules  the  Camp 207 


535759 


CONTENTS. 


XXIII. 

The  Dewdkop  on  the  Rose      . 

219 

XXIV. 

One  Chance  in  a  Hundred 

.  229 

XXV. 

Enemies 

237 

XXVI. 

A   FlEKY   FUKNACE 

.  242 

XXVII. 

MaV  AND   DeCEMBEB.    .... 

257 

XXVIII. 

A  New  Saint  in  the  Calendar 

.  263 

XXIX. 

The  Last  op  Bo  Disney  . 

272 

XXX. 

Sick  and  in  Prison        .... 

.  280 

XXXI. 

Poor  Timberlake       .... 

.      283 

XXXII. 

Who  loses  his  Life  fintds  It 

.  291 

XXXIII. 

A  Love  Letter         .... 

.      29.5 

XXXIV. 

The  Mystery  solved    .... 

.  302 

XXXV. 

The  Broken  Box— a  Human  Heart 

.      307 

XXXVI. 

Cela  va  sans  dire         .... 

.  313 

XXXVII. 

Crucifixion  of  the  Soul, 

.      330 

XXXVIII 

Jack  Horner 

.341 

JACK  HORIsrER 


OU-B   BUGLES   SANG  TRUCE. 

It  was  Christmas  Eve  in  the  year  1862.  The 
bloodiest  engagement  of  the  advance  of  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac  on  Richmond  had  taken  place  not  many 
days  before.  Burnside,  having  fruitlessly  thrown  divi- 
sion after  division  of  the  flower  of  his  army  into  the 
fire  on  the  heights  of  Fredericksburg,  had  retired  to 
count  his  dead,  and  eventually  to  be  relieved  of  his 
command.  Lee  and  Jackson  behind  their  breastworks, 
thanking  God  for  the  repulse  of  the  enemy,  waited 
vainly  for  Burnside  to  make  another  attack,  and  there 
was  a  temporary  lull  in  hostilities. 

Christmas  Eve  happened  that  year  on  unusually  fine 
weather.  Night  fell  on  Richmond  clear  and  cold,  with 
all  the  crackle  and  sparkle  of  the  good  old  holiday  time. 
The  sky,  gleaming  with  steely  points,  matched  the 
frosty  air,  tingling  with  pins  and  needles,  while  frozen 
streets  echoed  to  the  click  of  hurrying  feet  and  ringing 
hoofs.  It  was  about  the  hour  when  fireside  lamps  are 
lighted  and  curtains  drawn  close  in  the  domestic  circle. 
This  circle  in  a  certain  large,  comfortable-looking  house 


2  JACK  HORNER. 

on  Franklin  Street  consisted  of  a  Mr.  and  Miss  Piitch- 
ard,  an  old  bachelor  and  his  spinster  sister.  Miss 
Pritchard,  who  loved  the  twilight  and  whose  lamps 
were  not  lighted  yet,  stood  at  one  of  her  parlor  -win- 
dows looking  on  the  passers-by,  most  of  whom  were 
laden  with  presents  or  provender  for  the  morrow. 
Her  thoughts,  like  those  of  other  old  people  at  this 
season,  were  busy  with  the  Christmases  of  long  ago, 
comparing  the  festivities  of  her  youth,  when  Richmond 
was  jovial  in  peace  and  plenty,  and  its  condition  now, 
when  its  plenty  was  pinched  and  a  deep,  prophetic 
sadness  underlay  its  gayety.  Her  mind  was  suddenly 
recalled  to  present  interests  by  a  man  with  a  market 
basket,  larger  and  seemingly  heavier  than  usual,  —  this 
being  a  period  when  the  Richmond  market  basket  was 
proverbially  of  light  weight,  —  passing  directly  under 
her  window.  The  old  lady  was  in  the  dark,  but  there 
was  light  enough  in  the  street  to  show  that  the  man, 
whose  face  was  shaded  by  the  visor  of  a  military  cap, 
had  a  young,  alert  figure  and  wore  a  shabby  gray  uni- 
form. 

"  I  do  believe  somebody  has  sent  us  a  Christmas  tur- 
key !  "  she  said  to  herself,  standing  on  tiptoe,  pressing 
her  little  gray  curls  against  the  frosty  pane,  in  an  at- 
tempt to  see  if  she  were  right  in  supposing  that  the 
man  had  turned  in  at  her  door.  The  next  moment  a 
sharp  pull  at  the  bell  dispelled  all  doubt. 

"  Who  in  the  world  can  it  be  ?  "  running  over  in  her 
mind  the  friends  who  were  likely  to  be  able  to  spare  so 
substantial  an  offering  at  a  time  when  a  turkey  was 
cheap  at  twenty  dollars,  and  everybody's  larder,  be- 
sides being  scantily  supplied,  had  unusually  pressing 


OUR  BUGLES  SANG   TRUCE.  3 

demands.  She  lighted  her  lamp,  in  order  to  get  a  bet- 
ter view  of  the  forthcoming  gift,  with  a  flutter  of  pleas- 
urable excitement  akin  to  that  of  a  child  investigating 
a  well-filled  stocking  in  the  dark  of  a  Christmas  dawn. 

"  My  !  my  !  What  can  Afra  be  making  such  a  noise 
at  the  door  for  ?  "  she  asked  herself,  when  the  hasty 
ring  was  answered.  "  I  'm  afraid  she  's  got  Christmas 
in  her  bones.  Her  recipe  for  plum-pudding  calls  for 
high  seasoning." 

Afra  was  the  cook.  Her  name  was  a  contraction  of 
Africa,  and  it  suited  well.  She  was  so  vast  and  black 
as  to  suggest  a  dark  continent  in  her  own  person. 
And  Afra  ruled  the  roast,  not  only  in  the  kitchen  but 
everywhere  else,  as  the  expression  implies,  with  a  subtle 
suggestion  that  the  stomach  is  the  seat  of  govern- 
ment. 

The  noise  increased.  Exclamations  in  a  big  round 
tone  of  wonderment  continued  to  make  themselves 
heard,  until  finally  Afra  burst  into  the  room  with  a 
huge  market  basket  in  one  hand,  while  with  the  other 
she  invoked  Heaven  to  witness  "  dat  somebody  had 
gone  an'  lef  a  baby  at  Miss  Patty  Pritchard's  do  !  " 

Miss  Pritchard's  pleasurable  excitement  was  swal- 
lowed up  in  horror.  "  A  baby  !  "  she  gasped  ;  then  re- 
covering her  voice,  and  forgetting  in  her  excitement 
that  the  culprit,  who  had  had  some  minutes  the  start, 
was  probably  well  out  of  the  way,  "  Run,  Afra !  I  saw 
the  man  who  did  it.  He  had  a  soldier's  cap  drawn 
over  his  face  and  wore  a  shabby  gray  uniform.  Run, 
I  tell  you  !  " 

Afra  was  not  built  for  speed,  but  her  spirit  was  equal 
to  any  emergency,  especially  on  the  eve  of  high  festi- 


4  JACK  HORNER. 

val.  Putting  aside  the  impediments  of  baby  and  bas- 
ket by  dumping  them  in  the  middle  of  the  parlor  floor, 
she  dashed  out  of  the  room  and  gave  chase.  Once  in 
the  street,  her  course  was  by  no  means  plain  sailing. 
Miss  Pritchard's  description  of  the  man,  which  had 
seemed  vividly  individual,  proved  to  be  confusingly 
general.  Every  other  man  wore  a  shabby  gray  uni- 
form and,  the  night  being  cold,  his  cap  well  on.  But 
Afra's  suspicion  fastened  with  the  force  of  conviction 
on  one  who  seemed  to  have  reasons  of  his  own  for  hug- 
ging the  wall  as  he  moved  quietly  along  in  its  shadow. 

The  woman's  loud  hail,  the  sail-like  flapping  of  her 
apron,  her  great  heaving  movement  as  she  bore  down 
on  the  man  of  w^r,  created  hilarious  commotion  in  the 
street. 

*'  Ship  ahoy  !  "  shouted  a  water  wag. 

"  Go  it,  old  girl !  "  cried  a  landsman. 

Boys  left  their  fire-crackers  to  follow  in  her  wake. 
Grown-up  pedestrians  stopped  to  see  the  fun. 

The  soldier,  evidently  a  cavalry  officer  and  a  good- 
looking  fellow,  being  thus  brought  into  notice,  stood 
out  boldly  in  the  circle  of  light  under  a  gas  lamp,  and, 
steadying  himself  by  the  post,  asked  with  great  dignity 
and  a  thick  voice  what  she  wanted  with  an  officer  in 
the  army,  "  thish  time  o'  night,  too  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  know  what  you  been  up  to,  sah  I  "  panted 
Afra,  short  of  breath  and  wiping  her  shining  face. 
*'  My  mistis  say  as  how  she  seed  you  lef '  a  baby  on  her 
do'step  not  five  minutes  ago,  an'  she  want  you  to  come 
an'  take  it  away." 

Laughter  from  the  bj^standers  followed  this  bold  ac- 
cusation.    The  officer  himself  seemed  in  too  sublimated 


OUR  BUGLES  SANG   TRUCE.  5 

an  atmosphere  to  be  amused  or  astonished  at  anything. 
Besides,  he  never  forget  his  gallantry. 

"All  right,"  he  hiccuped  with  immense  gravity; 
"  I  '11  own  to  the  ba-baby,  my  good  woman,  and  pl-please 
tell  your  mistress  I  '11  call  and  see  her  in  the  mor- 
morning." 

A  louder  laugh  greeted  this  reply,  and  Afra,  abashed 
at  the  joke  being  turned  on  herself,  said  less  defiantly, 

"  No,  dat  won't  do,  sah.  My  mistis  want  you  to 
come  now,  an'  take  it  right  away." 

"  But  you  see.  I  ca-can't  come  now.  I  've  an  en- 
gagement with  anoth-another  la-lady,  and  I  'm  behind 
ti-time,"  with  a  helpless  movement  toward  his  watch. 

The  group  of  listeners  were  so  loud  in  their  applause 
of  the  gallant  soldier  that  one  or  two  policemen  were 
attracted  to  the  spot,  and  the  little  crowd  dispersed  to 
the  tune  of 

"  If  you  want  to  g-o  to  heaven, 

Never  jine  the  cavalry," 
shouted  by  the  boys  returning  to  their  fire-crackers. 

Afra,  seeing  her  mistake  in  attacking  a  man  who 
could  with  difficulty  carry  himself  without  the  addi- 
tional burden  of  a  baby,  went  home  crestfallen  and 
grumbling. 

The  police,  finding  a  little  jollity  excusable  in  a  sol- 
dier on  Christmas  Eve,  passed  discreetly  on,  leaving 
him  to  the  friendly  embrace  of  the  lamp  post.  When 
the  sound  of  their  footsteps  was  lost  in  the  distance, 
the  officer  let  go  the  post  and  glanced  cautiously  about 
him.  Finding  none  of  his  late  observers  in  sight,  he 
walked  away  without  a  sign  of  inebriety. 

"  By  Jupiter !  That  was  an  escape  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
quickening  his  steps  almost  to  a  run. 


JACK  HORNER. 

He  had  not  gone  more  than  two  squares  when  an- 
other young  man,  Hkewise  in  unifomn,  standing  in 
shadow  apparently  waiting  for  some  one,  accosted 
him. 

"  Stop  a  moment." 

"  Thunder  !  Is  that  you  ?  "  cried  the  other,  pale, 
with  eyes  gleaming  with  suppressed  excitement.  "  You 
were  devilish  lucky  to  get  out  of  the  way  when  you 
did.  Hang  me,  I  never  came  so  near  being  caught  in 
my  life.  She  singled  me  out  and  flew  at  me  keen  as 
a  ratter." 

"  She  ?     Then  you  encountered  one  of  the  fair  sex  ?  " 

"  Fair !  "  with  a  grimace,  remembering  Afra's  black 
face,  "  that 's  not  the  word." 

"  True,  some  one  has  called  them  the  unfair  sex." 

"  Come,  without  satire,  this  one  was  as  black  as  the 
devil.     I  am  beginning  to  find  the  affair  serious." 

"  I  hope  it  will  turn  out  all  right  with  the  little  beg- 
gar." 

"  Of  course  it  will.  And,  after  all,  a  long-established 
practice  of  robbing  hen-roosts  ought  to  make  the  leav- 
ing of  one  forlorn  little  chick  at  a  fat  barnyard  door 
seem  a  small  matter.  In  fact,  it  is  a  sort  of  restitu- 
tion, a  squaring  up  of  things.     Don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  see.  To  me,  it  is  more  like  the  first 
chapter  of  a  shady  romance." 

"  Of  which  you  and  I,  who  are  going  back  to  the 
army  to-morrow,  will  never  learn  the  sequel." 

"  Who  knows  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  is  too  large  a  field  of  conjecture  for  a 
street  corner  on  a  cold  night.  Come  to  my  room  and 
have  a  pipe,"  taking  his  comrade  by  the  arm  and  turn- 


OUR  BUGLES  SANG   TRUCE.  7 

ing  him  face  about.  "Now  don't  say  no.  We  are 
going  in  opposite  directions  in  the  morning,  and  meet 
again  "  — 

With  this  reflection  the  other  was  persuaded.  As 
the  two  tramped  down  the  street,  one  big  and  broad 
shouldered,  with  the  regular  cavalry  swagger,  the  other 
slim  and  wiry,  with  the  tense,  alert  bearing  of  a  West 
Point  graduate,  they  furnished  as  good  a  sample  as 
could  be  had  of  the  stuff  of  which  the  Army  of  North- 
ern Virginia  was  made. 


11. 

HIS   FIRST   STAR  A    BRASS    BUTTON. 

"When  Afra,  discomfited,  got  back  to  her  mistress,  she 
found  Miss  Pritchard  so  far  recovered  from  the  shock 
of  discovering  the  nature  of  her  Christmas  gift  as  to  be 
examining  the  contents  of  the  basket,  under  protest,  as 
it  were. 

Less  than  this  was  not  to  be  expected  of  the  aver- 
age woman.  To  be  left  alone  with  a  strange  baby  and 
not  to  take  a  peep  at  it,  "  just  to  see  what  the  thing 
looked  like,"  as  Miss  Pritchard  expressed  it,  would  be 
asking  too  much  of  human  nature.  But  as  has  been 
said,  it  was  under  protest.  She  stood  as  far  off  as  was 
practicable  with  seeing  the  child,  her  skirts  held  se- 
verely out  of  the  way  of  contamination  with  one  hand, 
while  with  the  other  she  removed  the  covering  until 
the  little  face  was  exposed  to  view. 

There  is  a  sort  of  royalty  about  a  sleeping  baby. 
The  placid  dignity,  the  serene  unconsciousness  that 
it  is  not  always  welcome  to  this  workaday  world,  the 
calm  brows  unruffled  by  a  single  care  as  to  where- 
withal it  shall  be  fed  and  clothed,  the  sensitive  mouth 
that  seems  to  know  its  lightest  sound  will  bring  atten- 
dance more  surely  than  the  handclapping  of  an  Eastern 
despot,  always  impress  me  with  a  sense  of  majesty. 
Something  of  this  feeling  must  have  momentarily  over- 


ins  FIRST  ST  Alt  A   BRASS  BUTTON.  9 

come  Miss  Pritchard's  disgust,  for  she  dropped  her 
skirts  and  smiled.  The  sight  of  a  fine  boyish  head 
covered  with  goklen  down,  a  cm*ve  of  dark  Lashes  on 
firmly  rounded  cheeks,  a  red  rose  of  a  mouth  expand- 
ing to  a  happy  smile  in  the  comfortable  atmosphere  of 
her  fireside,  would  have  melted  a  harder  heart  than 
throbbed  in  the  lady's  maidenly  bosom.  Miss  Pvitch- 
ard  was  succumbing  almost  —  had  she  been  sure  of  the 
status  of  the  child's  mother  it  would  have  been  quite  — 
to  the  point  of  a  kiss,  when  Afra,  puffing  like  a  steam- 
engine,  returned  from  her  bootless  quest.  The  lady's 
back  stiffened,  and  she  swept  her  starched  skirts  out  of 
the  way  again. 

"  Don't  tell  me,  Afra,"  she  exclaimed,  seeing  the  cook 
alone,  "  that  you  've  come  back  without  the  man  who 
left  this  child  outdoors  on  a  freezing  night.  Could  n't 
you  find  the  wretch  ?  " 

"  I  foun'  one,  Miss  Patty,  but  he  wan't  de  right  one. 
I  barked  up  de  wrong  tree  dat  time,  an'  got  all  de  boys 
a-larfin  cos  I  tackled  a  drunken  man." 

"  Well,  I  am  sorry,"  said  Miss  Pritchard,  turning 
her  back  resolutely  on  the  basket  and  its  contents,  "  for 
the  child  will  have  to  go  to  the  orphan  asylum." 

"  La,  Miss  Patty !  "  exclaimed  Afra,  who  by  this 
time  had  caught  sight  of  the  golden  head  and  rosy 
mouth,  "  if  it  be  a  boy  baby,  it  '11  be  a  pity  to  sen'  him 
to  de  awful  'sylum,  for  dey  mostly  die  dar,  an'  the  way 
folks  is  a-slaughterin'  an'  killin'  one  anoder  dese  days 
we  '11  be  wan  tin'  men  folks  arter  a  while." 

"  It  is  hard,  Afra,"  staring  at  the  fire,  "  but  if  his 
parents  forsake  him,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  *' 

"  Mebbe  he  ain't  got  no  parents,  po'  little  honey," 


10  JACK  HORNER. 

her  dark  eyes  dilating  and  her  affectionate  African' 
heart  warming  to  the  morsel  in  the  basket.  *'  Dese  is 
hard  times.  Folks  die  mo'  dan  dey  used  to.  Den  de 
Scripter  say  —  bless  his  heart,"  the  child  was  beginning 
to  move  —  "  dat  when  father  and  mother  forsake  me 
den  de  Lord  takes  me  up.  Mebbe  de  Lord  '11  put  it 
inter  somebody's  heart  to  take  you  up,  honey,"  suiting 
the  action  to  the  word  by  lifting  the  child  out  of  his 
basket  and  cuddling  him  on  her  broad  bosom.  *'  La, 
Miss  Patty,  as  I  'm  alive,  here  's  a  letter  pinned  to  his 
frock  !  " 

"  A  letter  ? "  echoed  Miss  Patty,  getting  out  her 
spectacles.  Then,  as  if  a  little  ashamed  of  her  haste, 
"  I  should  really  like  to  see  what  excuse  they  have  to 
make.    Give  me  the  letter." 

Afra,  intensely  interested,  stood  with  her  head  on 
one  side,  her  mouth  working,  as  if  tiying  to  help  her 
mistress  out  with  the  words  which  came  with  tantaliz- 
ing slowness. 

"  This  boy  was  born  in  honoi\able  wedlock  and 
baptized  John.  His  father  is  a  soldier  in  the  field ; 
his  mother  a  saint  in  heaven.  If  it  enters  into  the 
heart  of  any  good  man  or  woman  to  take  care  of 
the  child  until  the  war  is  ended,  he  will  be  reclaimed; 
and  may  the  merciful  obtain  mercy,  Christmas  Eve, 
1862." 

"  Dar  now !  Dat 's  a  good  word,"  said  Afra  promptly. 
"  Real  Cliristchuu  writin.  An'  I  knowed  he  was  a  boy 
baby  as  soon  as  I  put  my  eye  on -him." 

"  Afra,"  said  Miss  Pritchard  severely,  "  pin  this 
note  on  the  child  again  and  put  him  back  in  the 
basket.  Then  go  for  a  policeman  and  have  him  taken 
away." 


HIS  FIRST  STAR  A  BRASS  BUTTON.        11 

"  It  seem  mouty  homelike  an'  nateral  to  be  havin' 
a  baby  aroun',''  pre])aring  reluctantly  to  obey. 

"  I  dare  say,  when  it  's  asleep." 

*'  An'  la,  Miss  Patty,  jest  look  at  dem  eyes  !  "  The 
baby  had  waked  up,  and  with  a  pair  of  large  brown 
eyes  was  gazing  curiously  and  without  fear  into  the 
cook's  face.  "His  mother,  what  de  letter  say  is  a 
angel  in  heaven,  ain't  got  no  mo'  beautifuller  eyes 
dan  dem,  I  know.  Jest  look,"  holding  the  boy  for  in- 
spection under  Miss  Pritchard's  nose. 

"  Come,  Afra,  no  more  fooling.  The  best  thing  to 
be  done  for  the  child  is  to  get  him  into  comfortaljle 
quarters  for  the  night.  I  will  go  to  the  asylum  my- 
self, and  see  what  can  be  done,"  said  the  old  lady,  her 
face  clearing  as  a  bright  thought  suggested  that  she 
might,  after  all,  be  of  use  to  the  little  creature  thus 
unfairly  thrust  upon  her  notice.  "You  go  for  the 
police,  and  I  will  get  my  bonnet  and  cloak." 

Afra,  who  was  trying  to  get  the  child  back  in  his 
basket,  found,  like  those  who  call  spirits  from  the  deep, 
that  it  was  not  so  easy  to  make  him  down  again.  He 
began  to  bawl  and  kick,  wisely  preferring  liberty  and 
love  to  being  cribbed  in  solitary  confinement  in  a 
market  basket. 

"  My  !  my  !  This  will  never  do,  Afra.  You  ought 
not  to  have  taken  him  up.  "What  ivill  your  master 
say  ?  " 

"  Master  mouty  apt  to  say  de  wrong  thing,"  mut- 
tered Afra,  an  adept  in  the  art  of  asides.  "  I  kin  hush 
him  up  fo'  you  git  yo'  bonnet,  Miss  Patty,"  she  said 
aloud. 

Expeditious  as  Miss  Patty  tried  to  be,  she  did  not 


12  JACK  HORNER. 

succeed  in  getting  away  with  the  child  before  her 
brother  made  his  appearance.  He  entered  the  room 
just  as  John  was  exercising  his  hnigs  and  heels  to  the 
utmost. 

Mr.  Lawrence,  or  Larry  Pritchard  as  he  was  com- 
monly called,  was  a  bachelor,  beyond  the  fighting  age, 
rather  stout,  and  quite  bald.  His  round  face  had  aged 
without  maturing,  like  a  wrinkled  rosy  apple.  This 
gave  him  the  appearance  of  an  elderly  boy,  and  was 
probably  one  of  the  reasons  why  his  boyish  name  stuck 
to  him.  In  addition  he  was  exceedingly  near-siglited, 
and  put  up  his  glasses  now  to  discover  the  cause  of  the 
imusual  noise. 

*'  A  baby  !  "  he  stammered,  looking  with  puzzled  anxi- 
ety from  Miss  Patty's  face  to  Afra's,  and  from  Afra's 
to  his  sister's  again.     "  A  baby  I  " 

Turning  about,  he  was  getting  out  of  the  room  as 
fast  as  possible,  when  curiosity  prompted  him  to  pause 
at  the  door.  "  Where  did  it  come  from  ?  "  he  whis- 
pered mysteriously,  as  if  the  subject  was  an  improper 
one,  to  be  spoken  of  with  bated  breath. 

"  Heaven  knows,"  whispered  Miss  Patty,  not  to  be 
outdone  in  propriety.  "  Afra  found  him  on  the  front 
doorstep." 

"  Better  put  him  where  he  came  from,"  returned 
Larry,  speaking  out  boldly,  as  he  washed  his  hands 
of  the  ugly  business. 

"  And  let  the  child  freeze  to  death  ?  "  exclaimed  his 
sister  with  some  heat. 

"  Dar  now,  pet  lam,"  laughed  the  cook,  mixing  her 
asides  Avith  baby  talk  as  skillfully  as  she  mingled  tart 
with  sweet  in  the  kitchen.     "  Mars  Larry  done  said  de 


EIS  FIRST  STAR  A   BRASS  BUTTON.        13 

wrong  thing.  I  knowed  he  would.  He  want  you  put 
on  de  do'step  agin.  Menfolks  ain't  got  no  sense  nohow. 
What  dis  you  got  in  yo'  han',  honey  ?  "  she  continued, 
purring  on  as  she  unclasped  the  little  fingers  doubled 
tightly  over  a  small  hard  object.  "  A  brass  button,  as 
I  'm  alive  !  Some  fool  of  a  man  gin  you  dat  to  play 
wid,  I  bet.  Womenfolks  got  mo'  sense.  Ef  you  had 
swallered  dat,  honey,  Miss  Patty  would  a  had  to  sen' 
you  to  de  buryin'  groun',  a  heap  sight  better  place  to 
my  min'  dan  de  awful  'sylum." 

"  AVhat  are  you  doing  to  him,  Afra  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Patty,  the  boy  screaming  louder  than  ever  at  having 
his  button  taken  from  him. 

"  Jest  gittin  dis  thing  away,"  said  Afra,  giving  the 
button  to  her  mistress,  who,  with  the  indifference  to 
small  objects  common  to  persons  whose  sight  is  not  so 
good  as  it  once  was,  laid  it  on  a  table  without  further 
interest. 

Larry,  being  near-sighted  and  accustomed  to  eying 
things  at  close  range,  picked  it  up,  and  after  a  moment's 
examination,  '•  Why,  this  is  an  United  States  army  but- 
ton on  a  bit  of  blue  cloth !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  horror- 
stricken  undertones,  as  if  instead  of  an  United  States 
button,  an  United  States  regiment  had  been  treasona- 
bly smuggled  into  the  house. 

"A  Yankee  button?"  cried  Miss  Patty,  turning 
furiously  red  and  getting  out  her  spectacles  again. 
"  Why  so  it  is,  and  torn  from  a  blue  coat !  " 

"Looks  as  if  he  wanted  to  capture  an  enemy,"  said 
Mr.  Larry. 

"And  did  n't  want  to  let  go  nuther,"  said  Afra. 

"  Then  he 's  true  grit,  God  bless  him !  "  cried  Miss 
Patty. 


14  JACK  HORNER. 

Larry  began  to  fidget  again.  *'  Get  him  away,  get 
him  away,  Patty,  as  soon  as  possible,"  he  muttered,  as 
they  stood  together  under  a  lamp,  examining  the  relic. 

Meanwhile,  Afra,  who  had  succeeded  in  comforting 
the  child  by  giving  him  a  string  of  colored  beads  fished 
out  of  her  pocket,  held  him  up  radiant  with  good 
humor.  A  crow  of  delight  recalled  attention  from  the 
mystery  of  the  button  to  the  contemplation  of  the  hu- 
man problem.  Larry  and  his  sister  turned  to  look  at 
the  baby,  whose  yellow  head  and  laughing  eyes,  in  jux- 
taposition to  the  cook's  sable  hues,  shone  like  a  star  on 
the  brow  of  Night.  It  was  so  charming  a  picture  that 
Miss  Patty  glanced  uneasily  away  and  Larry  abruptly 
left  the  room. 

"  Miss  Patty,"  said  Afra,  taking  note  of  this  rather 
unexpected  effect,  ''  it 's  gittin  late,  an'  I  spec  all 
dem  folks  at  de  awful  'sylum  done  gone  to  bed.  Dey 
ain't  got  nothin'  ready  for  a  new  baby  dis  time  o' 
night." 

"Neither  have  I,  Afra,"  going  for  her  bonnet. 

"  It 's  mouty  cold  out  do's,  an'  de  'sylum  's  long  way 
fum  here,  an'  you  had  a  tech  o'  rheumatiz'  las'  week." 

"  That 's  true,"  thoughtfully.  "  I  will  order  the  car- 
riage." 

Afra  laughed.  "  La,  you  done  forgot  dat  dese  is 
Christmus  times !  De  stable  do 's  locked,  an'  Dannel 
—  he 's  everywhar  cep  at  home." 

Miss  Pritchard  lost  patience.  "  That 's  always  tlie 
way.     I  suppose  all  the  others  are  off  too  ?  " 

"Every  blessed  one  cep  me.  You  know  you  al- 
ways gin  us  holiday  a  week  at  Christmus,  an'  dem  nig- 
gers always  begin  de  night  befo'." 


HIS  FIRST  STAR  A  BRASS  BUTTON.       15 

"  My !  my  !  my  !  " 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  't  is,  Miss  Patty.  Ef  you  lemme 
take  car  o'  dis  cliile  to-night,  befo'  de  Lawd  I  '11  carry 
him  to  de  'sylum  in  de  mornin',  —  ef  you  say  so." 

Afra's  cumulative  arguments  were  successful.  Miss 
Pritchard  compromised. 

"  Well,  get  him  out  of  the  way  before  your  master 
comes  back,"  she  said  hurriedly,  "  and  don't  let  me 
hear  a  sound  out  of  him." 

Afra  began  immediately  to  carry  her  part  of  the 
agreement  into  effect.  She  had  not  been  in  the  kitchen 
all  these  years  without  learning  the  importance  of  strik- 
ing while  the  iron  is  hot. 

The  baby  did  not  feel  undel"  bonds  to  play  the  part 
assigned  him.  So  far  from  not  letting  a  sound  escape 
him,  he  cooed  like  a  dove,  crowed  like  a  cock,  and  cried 
"  Mam,  mam,  mam,"  in  Miss  Patty's  face,  bringing  to 
it  a  left-handed  smile  as  he  was  borne  from  the  room. 

He  was  plainly  a  happy  dog,  born  with  a  healthy 
body  and  a  cheerful  soul.  Materialists  contend  that 
they  are  the  same  thing. 

It  will  always  be  a  moot  point  whether  it  was  well 
for  us  that  our  ancestors  imported  Africans  into  this 
country.  But  Master  John  for  one  will  always  side 
with  our  ancestors  and  thank  God  for  his  black  friend 
Afra. 

The  calls  upon  Miss  Patty's  benevolence  this  memo- 
rable Christmas  Eve  were  not  yet  at  an  end.  She  was 
sitting  by  the  parlor  fire,  thinking  over  the  recent  oc- 
currence, which  had  left  her  trembling  and  agitated, 
when  a  timid  knock  at  the  door  was  followed  by  the 
entrance  of  a  young  woman  in  shabby  mourning,  evi- 


16  JACK  HORNER. 

dently  in  distress,  who  made  a  quaint  little  bob  courtesy 
by  way  of  salutation. 

"Back  again,  Mrs.  Manning?"  said  the  old  lady, 
surprised,  for  this  was  a  seamstress,  an  English  woman, 
whom  she  emjiloyed  by  the  day,  and  who  some  hours 
before  had  put  up  her  work  and  gone  home  for  the 
night.  "  Has  anything  happened  ?  "  with  a  sigh,  for 
Mrs.  Manning  was  one  of  the  unfortunates  to  whom 
something  was  always  happening.  Her  husband  had 
lost  a  leg  in  a  railway  accident  two  years  before,  and 
she  had  just  buried  her  only  child,  a  little  girl  not 
quite  a  year  old.  It  seemed  to  Miss  Pritchard  that 
she  no  sooner  helped  the  young  woman  out  of  one  diffi- 
culty than  she  was  plunged  into  another. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  ma'am,  something  has  happened  in 
the  house  where  we  live.  One  of  our  fellow-lodgers, 
a  friend  of  my  husband's,  has  just  died,  and  the  poor 
creature  has  not  left  so  much  as  a  shilling  to  buy  a  cof- 
fin with,  and  indeed  it  is  too  decent  a  body  to  be  bur- 
ied like  a  pauper.  The  landlady  wants  to  get  it  out  of 
the  house  as  soon  as  possible,  and  I  have  been  running 
about  among  my  emjjloyers  to  beg  a  little  money  to 
have  the  poor  creature  buried  like  a  Christian,  to-mor- 
row. My  husband  would  do  it  himself,  but  you  know  he 
is  lame,  and  the  streets  to-night  are  so  slippery.  I  have 
come  to  ask  if  you  can  spare  a  little,  ma'am." 

Miss  Patty  was  glad  it  was  no  worse.  Mrs.  Man- 
ning's excitement  and  tears  would  have  led  one  to  sup- 
pose that  she  had  been  burnt  out  of  house  and  home. 
The  lady  took  out  her  pocket-book.  It  would  be  dif- 
ficult to  say  how  often  it  had  been  out  that  day. 
Christmas  times  added  to  war  times  doubled  the  drain 


mS  FIRST  STAR  A   BRASS  BUTTON.       17 

on  one's  resources.  Charity  had  need  to  suffer  long 
and  be  very  kind  to  meet  the  demand. 

"  I  am  sorry  it  is  not  more,"  she  said,  contributing 
something  to  the  burial  fund. 

"  I  should  n't  have  dared  to  ask  so  much,  ma'am. 
Thank  you,  in  the  name  of  the  poor  body  who  can 
never  thank  you  in  this  world,  ma'am,"  with  another 
and  deeper  courtesy. 

Miss  Patty  looked  at  her  sharply.  She  wondered  if 
the  woman  knew  how  much  her  little  courtesy,  her 
downcast  eyes,  and  her  pronunciation  of  vowels  had 
done  for  her.  No  native  American  ever  made  rever- 
ences or  pronounced  oo  in  poor  after  the  fashion  of 
this  rosy -cheeked  little  seamstress.  They  interested 
Miss  Patty  so  much  that  she  found  it  difficult  to  refuse 
Mrs.  Manning  anything.  Her  mind  was  full  of  the 
event  which  had  upturned  her  own  household.  Having 
disposed  of  the  seamstress's  request,  her  thoughts  went 
back  to  the  baby.  Mrs.  Manning  was  pinning  up  her 
shawl  to  go  when  Miss  Patty  spoke  again. 

*'  Strange  things  are  happening  round  us,"  she  said, 
gravely.  "  Death  has  entered  into  your  home  to-night, 
Mrs.  Manning,  and  a  new  life  has  been  brought  into 
mine." 

Mrs.  Manning  opened  wide  her  downcast  eyes  at 
this  surprising  announcement. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Pritchard,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  glan- 
cing wonderingly  round,  vainly  searching  for  indica- 
tions of  something  new. 

"  Why,  have  n't  you  seen  Afra?  " 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  came  through  the  kitchen  as  usual, 
but  she  wasn't  there." 


18  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Ah,  well.  It 's  too  long  a  story  to  go  over  to-night. 
Come  to-morrow  and  get  some  of  the  Christmas  pud- 
ding." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  ma'am.  A  happy  Christmas  to 
you  and  Mr.  Pritchard.     Good-night,  ma'am." 

With  another  courtesy  she  was  gone.  Mrs.  Manning, 
in  a  hurry  to  get  through  her  business,  was  evidently 
more  interested  in  the  Christmas  pudding  than  in  the 
new  life,  although  if  she  had  thought  about  it,  she  must 
have  wondered  how  a  new  life  had  been  brought  about 
in  such  an  unlikely  place  as  the  Pritchard  household. 

Miss  Patty,  disappointed  at  this  want  of  concern  re- 
garding a  matter  in  which  she  was  so  much  interested, 
following  on  the  heels  of  her  practical  sympathy  with 
the  seamstress's  unburied  lodger,  closed  her  empty 
pocket-book  witli  a  snap  and  went  to  bed. 


III. 

HE   PULLED   OUT   A    PLUM. 

Christmas  came  in  with  the  booming  o£  cannon  and 
ringing  of  bells  muffled  by  a  heavy  fall  of  snow  in  the 
air.  Miss  Patty's  first  waking  thought  was  naturally  of 
the  event  the  day  commemorated,  the  birth  of  a  child 
in  Bethlehem  centuries  ago.  Then  she  remembered 
the  child  who  had  found  shelter  under  her  roof  only 
the  night  before,  and  the  thought  of  the  one  made  the 
strongest  appeal  for  the  pitiful  case  of  the  other. 

"  Poor  little  waif !  I  am  glad  after  all  that  he  will 
not  spend  his  Christmas  in  the  almshouse." 

Her  heart  warmed  towards  the  child  whose  father 
was  in  the  field,  whose  mother  was  in  heaven.  The 
words  of  the  note  had  caught  her  imagination  as  well 
as  won  her  confidence.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  to 
doubt  the  truth  of  its  statements. 

"Surely  my  hopes  for  this  world  are  in  the  field  and 
for  the  next  in  heaven,"  she  mused,  her  eyes  filling 
with  tears,  although  she  did  not  misplace  a  pin  in  her 
careful  toilet.  "Will  the  father  fight  better  if  his  child 
is  well  cared  for  ?  What  would  I  not  give  to  nerve  an 
arm  in  battle !  "  she  exclaimed  with  a  gentle  burst  of 
patriotism,  her  heart  sending  up  a  prayer  for  our  dear 
men  in  the  field,  which  in  its  breadth  and  warmth  in- 
cluded the  father  of  the  boy  John. 


20  JACK  HORNER. 

Miss  Pritchard,  who  was  plain  and  angular  from  a 
material  point  of  view,  had  a  heart  full  of  soft,  warm 
places  when  you  got  at  them.  She  was  plain  of  speech, 
too,  but  always  direct  and  honest.  Her  hair,  which 
was  fast  getting  white,  had  been  golden  in  its  youth,  as 
could  be  seen  from  yellow  threads  lingering  here  and 
there  like  gleams  of  sunshine  on  a  wintry  afternoon. 
Her  faded  blue  eyes,  beneath  which  tear  channels  were 
deep  and  dark,  were  kind  and  cheery  still.  "What  they 
had  lost  in  heaven's  color  they  had  gained  in  heaven's 
brightness.  She  had  had  her  little  romance  in  her  day, 
but  it  was  of  such  short  duration,  and  over  so  long  ago, 
that  its  memory  bore  to  the  reality  much  the  same 
resemblance  that  a  few  remaining  sticks  and  stems 
bear  to  the  nosegay  we  pressed  when  we  were  young. 
It  required  the  tenderness  of  a  first  and  only  love  to 
reconstruct,  even  in  imagination,  the  life  and  perfume 
of  that  early  bloom. 

Christmas  day  was  a  busy  one  with  Miss  Patty. 
First  of  all  there  was  church  ;  then  the  children  of  the 
parish,  her  poor  people,  the  sick  and  wounded  in  the 
hospitals,  her  friends  and  neighbors,  had  all  to  be 
remembered.  The  snow  which  whitened  and  beau- 
tified everything  was  all  very  well  to  look  at,  but  it 
undoubtedly  added  to  the  difficulties  of  the  day.  It 
was  not  nearly  so  easy  to  get  about  as  in  fine  weather. 
There  was  not  found  a  moment  convenient  for  sending 
away  the  baby,  who,  so  far  from  spending  his  Christ- 
mas in  the  almshouse,  was  in  a  fair  way  to  be  killed 
with  kindness  at  the  Pritchards'.  He  was  passed  from 
one  to  another  of  the  household  as  it  suited  their 
Christmas  comings   and  goings.     The  housemaid  dan- 


HE  PULLED  OUT  A  PLUM.  21 

died  him  and  good  naturedly  allowed  him  to  poke  his 
fingers  in  her  eyes.  The  coachman  held  him  astride 
a  liorse  in  the  stable.  The  stable  -  boy  gave  him  a 
whip.  Everybody  offered  him  something  to  eat,  a  pei*- 
nicious  practice  that  might  have  resulted  fatally  but 
for  the  good  fortune  which  followed  the  child  into  the 
house. 

Miss  Patty  went  so  far  as  to  call  it  a  special  provi- 
dence, as  well  as  an  instance  of  bread  thrown  upon 
the  waters  returning,  that  Mrs.  Manning,  the  young 
Enghshwoman  she  had  so  often  befriended,  should 
now,  having  just  lost  her  own  baby,  be  able  to  give  the 
foundling  proper  nutriment  in  such  unstinted  abund- 
ance as  to  make  him  indifferent  to  the  cake  and 
candy  proffered  on  all  sides.  The  child,  at  the  outset, 
had  stumbled  upon  a  foster-mother.  While  the  father 
fought  in  the  field,  the  stars  in  their  courses  fought  for 
the  boy.  He  remained  in  the  Pritchards'  house  sev- 
eral days  on  sufferance.  A  few  days  more  and  he  was 
"  the  baby."  A  little  later  on,  he  was  "  Master  Jack," 
and  installed. 

Mrs.  Manning,  no  longer  seamstress  but  nurse, 
changed  the  name  of  John  to  Jack.  The  servants,  be- 
cause he  had  come  at  Christmas-pie  time,  added  the 
nursery  cognomen  of  Horner.  So  that  in  less  than  a 
month  from  the  time  he  v/as  set  adrift  in  a  market 
basket,  little  Jack  Horner  had  found  a  local  habitation 
and  a  name. 

One  morning,  Avhile  Miss  Patty  and  her  brother  sat 
at  breakfast,  the  sound  of  a  baby's  scream  coming  in 
with  hot  muffins  Avhen  the  door  was  opened  prompted 
Mr.  Pritchard  to  ask :  — 


22  JACK  HORNER. 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  do  with  that  boy,  Patty  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  yet.  If  the  war  continues,  make 
him  a  soldier,  I  suppose." 

A  little  convulsive  movement  of  the  mouth  Avhich 
sent  his  right  eyebrow  up  to  his  hair,  intended  for  a 
smile,  passed  over  Mr.  Pritchard's  face,  as  he  asked  :  — 

"  Do  you  expect  to  live  that  long  ?  " 

"  I  '11  take  my  chances,"  she  said,  good  humoredly. 
"But  the  war  may  end  sooner  than  we  think,  and 
then  his  own  people  can  have  him." 

Larry's  eyebrow  went  up  incredulously.  "  His  own 
people  ?     I  don't  believe  he  has  any." 

"  Then  he  is  unlike  most  Virginians." 

"  I  don't  see  why  we  should  be  saddled  with  him." 

"  Neither  do  I,  exactly.  But  he  shan't  trouble  you, 
Larry,"  said  Miss  Patty,  becoming  serious.  "I  have 
a  feeling,  somehow,  that  in  taking  care  of  him  I  am  do- 
ing something  for  the  cause.  "What  we  want  is  men, 
and  there  is  so  much  promise  in  this  little  fellow  that 
I  don't  feel  like  throwing  it  away.  If  his  father  is 
killed,  the  child  will  take  his  place,  —  not  to-day,  but 
one  of  these  to-morrows." 

"  So  you  believe  all  that  the  fellow  Avho  left  him 
here  chose  to  write  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do.  I  don't  know  why  I  should,  but  I  do, 
all  the  same,  and  I  believe  the  father  will  be  a  bet- 
ter soldier  for  my  confidence.  It  is  part  of  my  creed," 
said  Miss  Patty  rising,  with  a  glow  on  her  faded  cheek, 
"  that  faith  and  endeavor  even  in  this  world  never  come 
quite  to  nothing." 

Meanwhile  Jack  held  his  own  even  with  Larry. 
On  one  occasion  when  the   latter  tried  to  coerce  the 


HE  PULLED   OUT  A   PLUM.  2o 

child  into  doing  something  he  did  not  want  to  do,  Jack 
rebelled,  wept,  whimpered,  and  finally,  exhausted  by  a 
tempest  of  emotion,  fell  asleep  while  the  gentleman  on 
guard  waited  to  be  obeyed.  Overcome  by  superior 
force,  Jack  failed  to  conquer,  but  achieved  what,  in  the 
language  of  the  day,  was  second  only  to  success,  a  mas- 
terly retreat.  Even  Larry  hesitated  to  recall  the  child 
from  the  slumber  into  which  he  had  escaped. 

"  The  boy  wins  every  time,"  thought  Miss  Patty, 
who,  knowing  that  old  bachelors,  like  old  maids,  have 
theories  about  the  education  of  children,  had  watched 
the  experiment  with  anmsed  interest. 

Miss  Patty,  like  many  another  fine  woman,  had  some- 
how missed  in  life  a  woman's  greatest  happiness.  Al- 
though the  recipient  of  more  than  a  common  share  of 
friendship,  she  had  never,  except  during  a  brief  ro- 
mance in  youth,  been  first  in  anybody's  love.  Her  na- 
ture had  not  been  spoiled  by  this  untoward  circum- 
stance, but  rather  sweetened  by  the  patience  with  which 
she  bore  her  lonely  life.  For  lonely  it  was,  although 
passed  for  the  most  part  in  companionship  with  her 
brother.  In  spite  of  her  sincere  affection  for  Larry,  he, 
being  solemn  and  didactic,  was  something  of  a  trial. 

Into  this  dry,  middle-aged  existence,  little  Jack  with 
his  brand-new  life  and  glorious  possibilities  had  been 
unceremoniously  thrust.  To  Miss  Patty,  it  came  to  be 
like  the  bubbling  of  a  pure  rill  on  a  thirsty  plain. 
When  the  first  blush  of  indignation  had  subsided,  it  is 
surprising  how  many  reasons  she  found  for  taking 
charge  of  the  boy.  In  ordinary  times,  she  argued,  she 
would  have  accepted  the  natural  inference  that  the 
boy's  antecedents  were  undesirable,   and   scouted   the 


24  JACK  HORNER. 

idea  of  adopting  him.  But  these  were  not  such  times. 
In  ordinary  times,  nothing  like  this  had  happened  to 
her.  Nothing  was  more  probable  than  that  many  men 
in  the  army,  of  whom  she  firmly  believed  Jack's  father 
to  be  one,  had  been  obliged  to  leave  their  families  un- 
provided for,  and  it  Avas  the  duty  of  every  loyal  man 
and  woman  with  comfortable  homes  and  means  to  fill 
their  places  as  far  as  possible.  It  was  the  only  thing 
non-combatants  were  good  for  in  the  present  crisis. 

One  generous,  loving  impulse  paves  the  way  for  a 
multitude  as  truly  as  that  a  heart  swept  and  garnished 
for  one  evil  spirit  opens  the  door  to  many.  It  would 
be  sad  for  us  if  this  were  not  so.  Miss  Patty,  who 
thought  to  befriend  the  boy  for  charity's  sake,  soon 
loved  him  for  his  own.  She  resolved  to  be  father  and 
mother  to  him  until  his  own  people  claimed  him.  The 
starved  side  of  her  nature  had  found  an  object  for  its 
tenderness. 

Her  unsatisfied  desire  to  be  of  use  in  the  world,  her 
unrealized  hope  of  being  necessary  to  somebody's  hap- 
piness, were  born  anew.  Her  old  enthusiasms  were 
rekindled  when  the  child  would  place  his  tiny  hand  in 
hers  for  guidance,  or  look  up  in  her  face  for  approval. 
She  felt  that  here  was  a  new  life  to  be  cherished  not 
only  for  its  own  sake,  but  as  a  citizen  of  the  young 
republic,  scarcely  older  than  himself,  and  the  supreme 
object  of  her  loyalty.  There  is  no  patriotism  so  de- 
voted as  the  flame  which  burns  in  the  heart  of  a  gentle 
spinster.  Witness  the  high  -  spirited  maiden  whose 
loyalty  was  so  ardent  that  she  kept  sacred  the  sheets 
in  which  the  majesty  of  Scotland,  that  vagabond 
Prince  Charlie,  once  slept,  to  serve  as  her  shroud. 


HE  PULLED   OUT  A  PLUM.  25 

"  A  wife,"  Miss  Patty  would  say,  "  has  her  husband 
to  give  to  the  cause,  a  mother  her  sons,  and  a  man 
may  achieve  honor,  glory,  and  a  soldier's  death  for 
his  country,  but  I  have  only  love  to  offer,"  and  that 
she  gave  without  stint.  This  sentiment  came  in  time 
to  be  mingled  with  the  affection  she  gave  the  boy,  who 
in  a  manner  represented  the  cause. 

Her  prayers  for  one  were  all  the  more  fervent  be- 
cause of  the  other.  The  foundling  had  won  a  place 
in  a  good  warm  heart.  Little  Jack  Horner  had  pulled 
out  his  plum. 


IV. 

THE   MINOR   KEYS. 

As  may  have  been  inferred  from  their  manner  of 
living,  the  Pritchards  were  well  to  do,  and  their  pros- 
perity rested  on  a  more  solid  basis  than  the  uncertain 
issues  of  the  war.  Their  father,  a  Welshman,  now 
dead,  had  made  a  fortune,  as  so  many  fortunes  have 
been  made  in  Richmond,  in  tobacco.  Added  to  this, 
he  had  had  the  sagacity  or  luck  to  invest  his  money  in 
good  securities  on  the  other  side  of  the  water.  In  this 
way,  Larry  and  his  sister  came  to  be  rich  at  a  time 
when  almost  everybody  else  was  desperately  poor. 

Like  most  wealthy,  childless  persons,  they  had  rela- 
tions not  so  well  off  as  themselves,  to  whom  the  adop- 
tion of  a  strange  child  would  be  naturally  a  matter  of 
interest,  not  to  say  concern.  These  relations  consisted 
—  so  far  as  America  was  concerned  —  of  two  half-sis- 
ters on  the  maternal  side,  which  was  not  the  moneyed 
side  of  the  house,  and  their  children.  Besides  these, 
there  were,  across  the  water,  some  "Welsh  cousins,  their 
father's  nieces  and  nephews. 

The  half-sisters,  whose  maiden  name  was  Minor,  had 
married  brothers  by  the  name  of  Key,  and  in  speaking 
of  their  children  Miss  Patt}'  used  to  say  she  had  two 
bunches  of  keys  for  nieces  and  nephews. 

The   Keys  were  living  at  this  time  in  the  countrj^, 


THE  MINOR  KEYS.  27 

near  the  town  of  Blankburg.  When  the  fact  of  Jack's 
advent  into  the  Pritchard  household  became  known  to 
them,  it  created  some  consternation  and  a  great  deal 
of  talk.  After  much  discussion,  it  was  decided  that 
one  of  them  should  go  to  Richmond  to  see  what  kind 
of  animal  the  little  interloper  was,  and  to  discover  if 
possible  Mr.  and  Miss  Pritchard's  intention  concerning 
him.  Their  choice  of  an  agent  for  this  delicate  mis- 
sion reflected  credit  on  the  family  astuteness. 

Madelaine  Key,  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  elder 
brother,  was  about  twenty-four  and  what  everybody 
called  nice  looking.  That  is,  they  began  by  calling 
her  so,  and  it  was  a  passport  to  general  favor.  Men, 
in  the  long  run,  prefer  nice-looking  women  to  beautiful 
ones.  They  certainly  wear  better,  and  women  admire 
them  with  a  delightful  absence  of  rivalry.  Nice  look- 
ing was  an  entering  wedge  which  disarmed  precau- 
tion, and  unwary  eyes  would  return  again  and  again 
to  Madelaine's  face,  and  end  by  finding  something 
more. 

The  first  impression  was  not  much  beyond  that  she 
had  a  clear,  pale  complexion,  richly  fringed  gray  eyes, 
and  a  grave  countenance.  A  lack  of  brilliance  in  color 
and  expression  masked  the  charm  of  her  face  to  super- 
ficial observers.  It  grew  upon  one  little  by  little,  like 
the  unfolding  of  a  delightful  secret  known  only  to  one's 
self,  and  the  world  left  out  in  the  cold. 

The  morning  of  her  departure  for  Richmond,  she 
was  in  the  dining-room  of  her  home  in  the  country, 
bidding  the  household  good-by.  In  the  family  group, 
her  individuality  was  strongly  marked  by  contrast  with 
the  others.     These  were  her  father  and  mother,  two 


28  JACK  HORNER. 

brothers  In  the  army,  two  sisters  just  grown,  and  a  half- 
grown  brother. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Key  were  a  sensible-looking  pair,  a 
little  past  middle  age.  who  doubtless  had  started  in 
life  without  much  resemblance  to  each  other,  but  by 
long  association  had  so  converged  towards  a  common 
type,  domestic,  parental,  rural,  that  it  was  difficult  to 
imagine  that  they  had  ever  had  a  separate  existence, 
or  been  other  than  a  comfortable  country  couple  with 
a  quiver  full  of  married  joys  and  cares.  The  sisters, 
Alice  and  Kate,  were  fresh  with  rustic  bloom  and  buoy- 
ant with  animal  spirits.  The  only  brother  at  home  was 
Dick,  a  bright-eyed  lad  at  the  gawky  age,  mostly  legs 
and  arms.  In  this  environment,  Madelaine's  gravity 
was  as  noticeable  as  her  tall  figure  and  pale  complex- 
ion. Another  distinction  existed  in  the  fact  that  she 
was  in  mourning,  her  dress  being  altogether  black  with 
the  exception  of  a  silken  gray  veil  wound  about  her 
hat  and  throat.  The  others,  in  true  Confederate  fash- 
ion, wore  motley  or  colors  that  came  handiest  without 
regard  to  harmony. 

"  Be  sure  and  write  us  all  the  Richmond  war  gossip, 
and  don't  forget  your  shawl,  Madelaine,"  said  hex 
mother,  with  a  final  kiss. 

"Which  war,  the  men's  or  the  women's?"  asked 
Mr.  Key,  getting  into  his  overcoat  to  drive  with  Made- 
laine to  the  station. 

Everybody  looked  up. 

"  I  thought  they  were  the  same,"  said  Mrs.  Key. 

"  What  is  papa  driving  at  now  '' "  asked  Kate,  dip- 
ping into  a  satchel  to  see  if  Madelaine  had  everything 
she  could  want  on  the  journey. 


THE  MINOR  KEYS.  29 

"  Something  very  deep,  if  Kate  does  not  understand," 
came  sarcastically  from  Dick,  who  had  been  snapping 
all  the  morning,  to  hide  his  discontent  at  Madelaine's 
going  away. 

"Is  there  a  woman's  war,  papa  ?  "  inquired  Made- 
laine. 

"  Your  mother  asked  for  Richmond  war  gossip,  and 
I  hear  a  war  is  going  on  there  between  Mrs.  President 
and  Mrs.  Quartermaster-General  about  their  respec- 
tive styles  of  beauty,  the  influence  of  which  —  I  mean 
the  war,  not  the  beauty  —  is  felt  all  along  our  lines," 
said  Mr.  Key,  who,  like  most  married  men,  enjoyed  a 
joke  on  women. 

"  Their  respective  styles  of  beauty  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Key. 
"  Why,  I  thought  they  were  both  brunettes." 

"  Yes,  but  Mrs.  Quartermaster-General  said  Mrs. 
President  looked  like  a  squaw,  and  Mrs.  President  re- 
torted that  the  other's  hair  was  '  kinky.'  " 

Everybody  laughed. 

"  That  looks  like  a  war  of  races,"  said  Mrs.  Key. 
Alice,  meanwhile,  had  slipped  into  Madelaine's  satchel 
a  flask  of  German  cologne,  —  a  treasure  which  the 
blockade  made  of  inestimable  value,  and  which  Alice 
had  been  saving  for  an  occasion.  Madelaine  would  not 
have  permitted  it  if  she  had  known,  so  with  Kate's 
connivance  the  satchel  was  closed,  and  the  cologne  a 
profound  secret  until  the  traveler  was  too  far  from 
home  to  remonstrate. 

"  I  want  to  know  all  about  that  Pritchard  baby,  if 
he  is  a  better  -  looking  chap  than  I  am,"  said  Dick, 
smoothing  his  rough  hair  with  one  hand  and  pulling  up 
his  shirt  collar  with  the  other. 


30  JACK  HORNER. 

"  It  would  not  take  much  to  be  that,"  said  Kate,  who 
never  allowed  Dick  to  go  unwhipped  of  justice. 

"  All  of  us  want  to  know  about  that  Pritchard  baby," 
said  Alice. 

"  I  shall  send  you  an  inventory  of  his  charms," 
promised  Madelaine. 

The  journey  to  Richmond  was  a  slow  one.  Southern 
railroads,  taxed  to  their  utmost  carrying  troops,  were 
out  of  joint  in  track  and  roUing-stock. 

Traveling  by  steam  was  like  traveling  in  an  ugly 
dream,  where  one  is  constantly  goiiig,  and  never  ar- 
riving. 

The  route  lay  for  the  most  part  through  a  desolated 
country,  where  deserted  fields  and  ruined  homesteads 
bore  silent  testimony  to  the  nature  of  war.  At  every 
station  soldiers  got  off  and  on  the  train,  —  shabby, 
ragged,  sometimes  even  shoeless  and  hatless,  but  always 
in  fine  spirits  and  ready  with  the  least  provocation  or 
with  noiie  to  break  into  cheers  or  uproarious  song. 

At  the  last  station  before  reaching  Ricbmond,  a 
young,  boyish -looking  private,  badly  wounded  in  a 
recent  raid  into  the  enemy's  lines,  was  helped  into  the 
car  by  a  comrade  wearing  the  chevrons  of  an  officer, 
who  made  him  as  comfortable  as  might  be  by  revers- 
ing a  seat  and  improvising  pillows  with  blankets  and 
shawls. 

It  was  Madelaine's  fortune  to  sit  behind  these  two. 
The  wounded  lad's  white  face  and  look  of  patient 
suffering  made  her  heart  ache  with  unavailing  pity. 
There  could  be  but  one  end,  and  it  not  far  off,  for  the 
young  fellow  round  whose  mouth  and  eyes  the  shadows 
were  even  now  settling.     It  seemed  to  her  that  "  Sot- 


THE  MINOR  KEYS.  31 

roAv's  crown  of  sorrow "  was  to  look  on  trouble  like 
this,  and  not  be  able  to  succor  or  even  to  soothe. 

Meanwhile  the  car  was  stifling  with  an  overheated 
stove,  closed  windows,  and  a  mixed  comijany.  A  peev- 
ish Avoman,  with  a  sick  baby,  made  a  moan  eveiy  time 
a  breath  of  air  was  admitted.  The  wounded  soldier's 
companion,  whose  bronzed  face  bespoke  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  all  sorts  of  weather,  was  suffering  as 
only  men  accustomed  to  sleep  beneath  the  stars  can 
suffer  in  a  close,  ill-smelling  atmosphere. 

The  veins  in  his  forehead  were  swelling,  and  the 
discomfort  was  becoming  intolerable,  when  a  fresh,  vol- 
atile odor  vivified  the  air  and  enveloped  him  in  its 
fragrance.  He  drew  in  a  long  breath  of  enjoyment. 
The  wounded  lad's  eyes  opened  with  an  unmistakable 
look  of  pleasure.  A  hand  was  extended  over  the  back 
of  the  seat,  and  Madelaine  —  thinking  how  repaid  her 
sister  would  have  been  had  she  known  her  gift  would 
bring  a  smile  to  eyes  that  had  looked  and  loved  their 
last  —  laid  her  handkerchief  on  the  invalid's  breast. 

Fortunately,  the  journey  was  now  soon  at  an  end. 
When  the  train  rolled  into  the  station  at  Richmond 
and  passengers  were  leaving  their  seats,  the  officer 
turned  to  thank  Madelaine  and  give  back  her  hand- 
kerchief, but  his  charge  clasped  the  bit  of  cambric 
in  his  wan  fingers  and  would  not  let  it  go.  Who 
knows  with  what  dreams  of  love  and  home  a  breath  of 
perfume  and  a  woman's  handkerchief  gladdened  his 
heart  ? 

The  officer  looked  up  in  Madelaine's  face  with 
'•  You  see  how  it  is  with  this  poor  fellow  "  expressed 
in  his  eyes  more   eloquently  than  if  he  had  spoken. 


32  JACK  HORNER. 

Madelaine  bowed,  and  answered  with  a  glance  which 
said,  "  I  understand." 

The  mate  little  drama  was  enacted  in  a  moment. 
There  was  no  time  for  more.  A  clanging  bell  and  the 
shriek  of  a  steam-whistle  scattered  the  passengers  like 
thistledown.  Madelaine  saw  no  more  of  her  fellow 
travelers.  But  she  did  not  forget  them.  She  carried 
away  an  indelible  impression  of  the  young  private's 
ashen  face  and  his  companion's  speaking  blue  eyes,  to 
which  the  contrast  of  his  bronzed  skin  gave  an  almost 
startling  brilliance. 

The  officer,  on  his  part,  had  only  the  memory  of  a 
perfume  and  a  gracious  presence.  Madelaine's  veil 
being  down,  he  had  seen  through  its  silken  meshes  but 
the  suave  contour  of  a  face  and  the  shimmer  of  bright 
eyes  that  said,  "  I  understand." 


V. 

DIPLOMACY. 

To  Lord  Palmerston  has  been  given  the  credit  of 
abandoning  the  Machiavelian  system  and  introducing 
the  practice  of  telling  the  truth  in  diplomatic  affairs. 
Madelaine  might  have  graduated  in  his  school,  for 
her  first  words  after  greeting  Mr.  and  Miss  Pritchard 
with  a  kiss  were,  "  Why,  aunt,  they  tell  me  that  you 
and  Uncle  Larry  have  adopted  a  baby,  and  I  'm  afraid 
you  will  love  him  better  than  you  do  me,"  with  a  Ut- 
tle  assumed  air  of  discontent  which  made  Miss  Patty 
laugh. 

"  Never  fear,  Madelaine  ;  blood,  you  know,  is  thicker 
than  water." 

Larry  gave  one  of  his  chuckles  with  uplifted  eye- 
brow. "  You  have  been  misinformed  as  to  my  having 
anything  to  do  with  adopting  the  boy,  Madelaine.  I 
disapprove  of  him  altogether." 

"  Why  ?     Is  n't  he  a  nice  child  ?  " 

"  Nice  ?  He  has  no  manners,  and  is  growing  up  a 
little  heathen." 

"  Manners  ?  "  said  Madelaine,  drawing  off  her  gloves ; 
"  why,  how  old  is  he  ?     I  thought  he  was  a  baby." 

"  Not  more  than  fifteen  months,  I  think,"  said  Miss 
Patty  ;  "  and  Larry  expects  him  to  pray  like  Stonewall 
Jackson,  and  make  bows  like  General  Lee." 


34  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Uncle  Larry  is  ambitious  for  your  proteg^,"  said 
Madelaine,  holding  her  hands  to  the  fire,  which  gave 
a  rich  glow  to  her  complexion,  a  rosy  transparence  to 
her  fingers,  and  sparkled  brightly  on  her  rings.  Her 
attitude,  as  she  stood  with  one  foot  on  the  low  fender, 
was  full  of  quiet  grace.  Her  thoughtful  face  and 
round,  womanly  figure  were  in  perfect  keeping  with 
her  homelike  surroundings. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  to  have  you  here, 
Madelaine.  It  's  a  comfort  to  look  at  you,"  said 
Miss  Patty. 

Even  Larry,  after  a  momentary  glance,  arched  both 
eyebrows  and  twitched  his  glasses  off  his  nose  with  a 
satisfied  '*  Humph  !  " 

"  Can  I  see  the  youngster  ? "  asked  Madelaine, 
gathering  up  her  wraps  preparatory  to  going  to  her 
room  to  change  her  dress. 

''  Yes,  when  you  come  down,"  said  Miss  Patty. 
"  Mrs.  Manning  brings  him  to  the  parlor  about  this 
time." 

When  Madelaine  returned,  Jack  was  on  hand,  re- 
splendent in  a  white  frock,  and  his  hair  in  as  many 
rings  as  his  nurse  could  make  of  its  fine  gold.  Larry 
was  putting  him  through  his  paces  as  usual.  The  child 
had  begun  to  simulate  articulate  sounds,  and  his  in- 
structor had  brought  him  so  far  as  to  say  "  Goo  gaw  " 
for  "  Good-morning,"  with  the  additional  ceremony  of 
shaking  hands  every  time  he  encountered  the  gentleman. 
He  might  go  through  the  performance  nine  times  a  day, 
and  if  he  omitted  it  the  tenth  he  was  set  down  as  a 
mannerless  baby.  Fortunately,  "  the  tear  that  down 
the  cheek  of  childhood  flows  "  is  an  evanescent  water 


DIPLOMACY.  85 

drop,  or  Jack's  life  might  have  become  a  burden  to 
him.  As  it  was,  he  seized  with  avidity  the  times  be- 
tween instruction  to  be  a  merry  little  soul.  He  had 
made  his  obeisance  to  Larry,  and  was  being  released 
with  an  injunction  to  be  a  good  boy,  and  not  to  forget 
to  say  his  prayers,  when  Madelaine  came  back. 

"  How  do  you  do,  IMaster  Jack  ?  "  she  said.  Her 
voice  always  arrested  attention.  Its  effect  upon  Jack 
was  immediate.  He  gazed  at  the  newcomer  as  if  she 
were  a  revelation.  A  new  planet  had  wheeled  into 
the  orbit  of  his  observation.  The  lady's  countenance  ex- 
pressed neither  the  disapprobation  of  Uncle  Larry,  nor 
Miss  Patty's  anxiety  to  please,  nor  yet  the  affected 
hilarity  with  which  strangers  often  try  to  ingratiate 
children. 

"  Come  and  shake  hands,"  she  said  gravely,  extend- 
ing one  of  hers  as  to  a  friend. 

Jack,  like  a  soldier  at  word  of  command,  trotted 
across  the  floor,  and  did  as  he  was  bid.  Then  of  his 
own  accord  he  clasped  the  lady  round  the  knees,  and 
looked  up  in  her  face  with  beaming  eyes. 

Something  in  the  action  touched  a  tender  chord 
or  recalled  a  painful  association  to  Madelaine.  Her 
brows  contracted,  and  while  she  laid  a  caressing  hand 
on  the  child's  yellow  hair  she  turned  her  head  away 
that  she  might  not  see  the  little  upturned  face. 

Larry,  who  had  been  waiting  to  see  his  assertion  of 
Jack's  want  of  manners  verified  by  his  refusing  to 
shake  hands,  was  dumfounded.  That  the  foundHng 
should  accord  to  a  young  woman  like  Madelaine 
obedience  which  he  refused  to  Lawrence  Pritchard,  a 
gentleman  and  the  head  of  the  house,  showed  how  far 


36  JACK  HORNER. 

the  world  had  gone  astray,  how  indequate  was  Patty's 
system  of  education,  and  how,  as  Solomon  had  said, 
*' foolishness  is  bound  up  in  the  heart  of  a  child." 

Madelaine,  by  this  time,  had  recovered  her  serenity 
and  taken  Jack  in  her  lap,  where  he  was  put  in  the 
seventh  heaven  of  delight  by  a  fragrant  kiss,  the  caress 
of  delicate  fingers,  and  the  lullaby  of  a  rich  voice  re- 
counting to  Aunt  Patty  country  gossip  and  the  adven- 
tures of  the  day. 

Madelaine  had  a  natural  gift  for  winning  children, 
and  her  peculiar  charm  was  never  more  apparent  than 
when  simply  by  the  influence  of  her  personality  she 
brought  a  child  in  happy  subjection  to  her  will. 

Miss  Patty,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  chimney, 
knitting  the  prevalent  stocking,  —  in  those  days  for 
every  pair  of  feet  in  the  army  many  pairs  of  hands 
at  home  manufactured  covering,  —  feasted  her  faded 
eyes  on  the  home  picture  glowing  in  the  firelight :  Jack, 
nestling  in  Madelaine's  arms,  his  white  frock  and 
yellow  head  in  high  relief  against  her  sombre  dress,  as 
he  played  with  her  rings  and  gurgled  hajjpiness. 

Larry,  meanwhile,  sat  in  his  armchair  out  of  the 
circle  of  firelight,  motionless,  silent,  diffusing  an  air  of 
spiritual  discomfort.  Miss  Patty  glanced  anxiously  to- 
wards him  from  time  to  time,  as  one  scans  clouds  in  a 
stormy  quarter.  Madelaine  tried  unsuccessfully  once 
or  twice  to  draw  him  into  conversation. 

Finally  he  stalked  out  of  the  room,  and  the  others 
drew  a  long  breath. 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Madelaine. 

"  Jack,"  said  her  aunt. 

"  I  see.      I  've  taken  too  much  notice  of  the  boy." 


DIPLOMACY.  37 

Miss  Patty  nodded. 

"  I  shall  have  to  be  more  careful  In  future." 

Another  nod. 

"  I  'm  so  glad  you  call  the  child  Jack,"  said  Made- 
laine  presently  ;  '*  I  like  the  name.  It  has  a  good,  hon- 
est ring." 

"  He  is  indebted  to  Mrs.  Manning  for  that.  I  should 
have  preferred  Johnny  Reb.  But  there  is  nothing 
like  being  first  in  the  field.  The  servants  dubbed  him 
Jack  Horner  at  sight,  and  the  name  has  stuck." 

"  And  it  is  better.  Jack  Horner  suggests  Christmas 
and  peace  and  plenty,  —  good  things  for  a  child.  The 
war  will  be  over  before  he  is  a  man,  and  then  Johnny 
Reb  will  be  an  anachronism." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right." 

The  nurse  came  and  took  Jack  away. 

Madelaine  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  pensively 
contemplated  the  fire.  After  a  while  she  said,  "  Now, 
Aunt  Patty,  I  have  told  you  my  news,  and  you  must 
tell  me  all  about  how  this  little  fellow  came  here." 

Miss  Patty  was  delighted  to  have  a  new  auditor  to 
the  oft-repeated  story.  She  laid  her  knitting  in  her 
lap,  and  poured  into  Madelaine's  attentive  ear  the 
facts  of  the  case  to  the  minutest  detail.  The  recital 
finished,  there  was  silence  for  some  minutes.  Made- 
laine seemed  to  be  thoughtfully  revioAving  the  evidence. 
Finally  she  asked  with  quite  judicial  gravity,  "And 
what  do  you  make  of  the  Yankee  button  ?  " 

Miss  Patty  drew  her  chair  closer.  This  was  a 
knotty  and  interesting  point.  "  I  have  decided,"  she 
said  earnestly,  "  that  Jack's  father  captured  a  Yankee, 
and  gave  the  child  the  button  as  a  trophy." 


38  JACK  HORNER. 

"  That  seems  likely  enough,"  said  Madelaine. 

It  is  delightful  to  have  one's  theories  adopted  with- 
out argument.  Miss  Patty  resumed  her  knitting,  con- 
firmed in  the  opinion  that  there  never  was  so  sensible 
and  comforting  a  creature  as  her  niece. 

"  And  you  think  the  button  the  most  distinctive 
mark  ?  "  resumed  Madelaine,  shading  her  eyes  from 
the  deep  red  glow  with  which  the  mass  of  burning 
coals  had  fallen. 

"  That  and  the  letter  D,  Mrs.  Manning  found  on  his 
underclothes." 

"  True,  I  must  look  at  that." 

"  Dear  Madelaine,"  said  Miss  Patty,  %vith  a  yearn- 
ing expression  of  affection,  '*  it 's  so  pleasant  to  have 
your  sympathy  about  Jack.  Larry  thinks  I  have 
made  a  fool  of  myself.  Sometimes  I  think  so  too,  and 
you  know  there  is  no  fool  like  an  old  fool.  I  was 
afraid  you  would  laugh  at  me.  But  you  seem  really 
interested  in  the  child,  and  it 's  a  great  comfort." 

"  I  am  interested,  and  more  than  that.  I  am  going 
to  try  and  discover  his  father." 

Miss  Patty  was  not  sure  that  she  was  pleased  with 
this  announcement.  She  had  already  begun  to  be  jeal- 
ous of  that  mysterious  father.  Having  entered  into  a 
contract  with  herself  to  keep  Jack  until  the  end  of  the 
war,  she  preferred  to  abide  by  the  agreement. 

Meanwhile,  Jack  was  making  other  conquests. 
Madelaine  was  yielding  to  his  fascinations  without  a 
struggle,  and  Larry  was  obliged  to  give  in  when  the 
boy  fell  asleep. 

When  Miss  Patty  spoke  again,  her  thoughts  had 
taken   another   turn.     "  I   am    all    the   more  pleased, 


DIPLOMACY.  39 

Maclelaine,"  she  said  hesitatingly,  "  that  you  feel 
kindly  towards  the  child  because  I  fancied  my  relations 
might —  might  "  —  She  did  not  know  exactly  how  to 
put  her  thought  into  words. 

"  You  fancied,"  said  Madelaine,  flushing  slightly, 
"  that  \ve  might  not  like  the  idea  of  your  adopting  a 
strange  child,  and  you  were  right,  aunt.  We  had 
quite  an  indignation  meeting  when  we  heard  about  it. 
We  thought  some  unscrupulous  person  had  imposed 
upon  your  good  nature,  and,"  she  continued  firmly, 
making  a  clean  breast  while  she  was  about  it,  "  we 
were  jealous  that  some  base-born  brat,  as  papa  put  It, 
should  take  the  place  of  your  own  flesh  and  blood. 
That  is  the  way  we  looked  at  it  in  Amherst  County." 

"  But  now  that  you  are  here,  you  think  differently  ?  " 

"  N-o,"  with  deliberation,  ''  I  can't  say  I  think  dif- 
ferently, but  1  feel  differently." 

"Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Patty,  settling  back  to  her 
work,  and  picking  up  a  dropped  stitch.  She  had  not 
lived  so  long  without  learning  that  what  a  woman  feels 
is  of  much  more  importance  that  what  she  thinks. 
"And  what  do  you  feel?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  feel  that  the  child  gives  you  a  great  deal  of  hap- 
piness, and  he  reminds  —  Ah,  well !  "  The  sentence 
ended  in  a  sigh. 

Miss  Patty  looked  up  uneasily.  Madelaine  was 
leaning  back  in  her  chair  with  pale,  fatigued  face  and 
closed  eyes. 

"  You  are  tired,  dear,  and  no  wonder.  I  ought  not 
to  have  let  you  sit  up  so  late  after  your  journey." 

"No,  I  am  not  tired,"  opening  her  eyes,  "but 
there  are  some  things  "  — 


40  JACK  EORNER. 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

"  The  dying  face  of  the  young  man  on  the  cars  haunts 
me.  Then  Jack's  little  hands  clasping  me  round  the 
knees  "  — 

"I  understand,  dear  child,"  said  Miss  Patty,  furtively 
wiping  her  eyes  with  the  half-finished  stocking.  "  And 
you  look  quite  worn  out.  Let  me  get  you  a  glass  of 
wine." 

"No,  no,"  said  Madelaine,  rising,  "I  shall  he  all 
right  in  the  morning.     I  believe  I  am  tii'ed." 


VI. 

ICI   ON   PARLE   BABY-L0M7SH. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday.  Madelaine,  restored  by 
a  night's  rest  to  her  cahn  and  cheerful  self,  made  a 
visit  to  the  nursery  before  going  downstairs. 

"  If  Uncle  Larry  is  such  a  goose  as  to  be  jealous  of 
a  baby,"  she  thought,  "  I  might  as  well  get  a  little 
pleasure  out  of  the  youngster  privately." 

The  pleasure  did  not  prove  to  be  so  private,  after  all. 
In  the  large,  sunny  room  which  did  duty  as  nursery, 
she  found  not  only  Jack  and  his  imrse,  but  Afra,  who 
contrived  on  one  pretext  or  another  to  get  a  peep 
at  her  protege  every  morning  while  he  was  being 
dressed. 

The  child,  after  the  fashion  of  old-time  royalty,  ac- 
customed to  receive  while  his  toilet  was  in  progress,  wel- 
.  corned  all  who  chose  to  assist  at  that  delicate  function. 
The  vociferous  "  goo  gaws,"  and  other  cheerful  sounds 
which  escaped  him  at  sight  of  his  new  visitor,  indicated 
that  he  thought  "  the  more  the  merrier." 

Madelaine,  who  unconsciously  and  without  appear- 
ing to  do  so  took  mental  notes  of  human  nature  as 
promptly  and  accurately  as  if  she  intended  some  day 
to  print  them,  began  by  kissing  the  baby  and  observ- 
ing the  nurse.  She  had  plumbed  Jack's  depths  the 
night  before. 


42  JACK  HORNER. 

The  broad,  benevolent  Afra  was  an  acquaintance  of 
long  standing.  Mrs.  Manning  was  a  new  study.  The 
nursery  was  properly  her  domain,  and  Madelaine  liked 
to  be  on  terms  with  the  governing  powers.  She  often 
declared  that  she  would  not  go  anywhere,  not  even  to  a 
shop,  unless  the  people  were  sympathetic.  She  did  not 
know  how  it  was  with  others,  but  as  far  as  she  was  con- 
cerned she  could  not  buy  so  much  as  a  yard  of  calico 
from  a  person  who  did  not  care  whether  she  liked  it 
or  not. 

Mrs.  Manning,  she  found  very  English  in  appear- 
ance. A  fresh  complexion,  a  low  voice,  and  quiet  man- 
ner wei*e  points  in  her  favor.  That  she  had  shifting 
eyes,  and  did  not  look  you  in  the  face,  Madelaine  did 
not  so  much  like.  All  this  she  discovered  between  two 
kisses  on  Jack's  dimpled  cheek. 

The  boy,  not  long  out  of  a  bath,  glowed  with  health 
and  glee.  His  eyes  sparkled.  His  yellow  hair,  its 
brightness  temporarily  dimmed  by  soap  and  water,  and 
towzled  by  vigorous  rubbing,  stood  out  from  his  head 
in  all  directions  like  the  sun  in  a  fog. 

"  Did  you  drop  down  out  of  the  sky,  you  darling.''  " 
cried  Madelaine,  swinging  him  to  her  shoulder  and 
looking  up  in  his  face,  which  shone  with  delight  that 
the  gods  had  sent  him  such  a  playmate.  '■  Mrs.  Man- 
ning, where  did  he  come  from  ?  " 

Madelaine's  enthusiastic  aposti'ophes  were  not  in- 
tended as  serious  questions.  But  Mrs.  Manning  was 
painfully  shy.  Addressed  by  name,  she  turned  red  and 
looked  at  the  carpet  as  she  stammered :  ''  Indeed, 
ma'am,  I  can't  tell.  You  know  it  was  Afra  who  found 
him." 


ICI  ON  PARLE  BABY-LONISH.  43 

Afra  was  not  shy.  She  held  her  fat  arms  akimbo 
and  showed  all  her  teeth,  speaking  for  herself. 

"  Yes,  'm,  't  was  me  dat  foun'  dat  boy,  an'  I  'm 
a-thinkin'  its  de  bes'  day's  wuk  I  ever  done." 

"If  he  turns  out  to  be  as  good  as  your  bread,  I 
think  it  is,  Afra." 

The  cook  beamed  at  the  compliment.  "  Thanky, 
Miss  Madlin.  But  you  know  dat  wid  de  boy  as  well 
as  de  bread,  mos'  everything  'pends  on  de  raisin'." 

Madelaine  laughed.  "  Why,  Afra,  you  are  witty  as 
well  as  wise." 

"  Dat 's  what  dey  say,  'm,"  with  a  polite,  elephan- 
tine courtesy. 

"  Wherever  he  came  from,  his  parents  are  handsome, 
I  should  say,"  said  Madelaine,  holding  Jack  at  arm's 
length,  and  viewing  him  critically.  She  relied  on  his 
not  understanding,  and  so  not  being  spoiled  by  her  out- 
spoken admiration.  But  if  he  did  not  understand  the 
words,  he  knew  perfectly  well  that  her  manner  meant 
approbation,  and  he  crowed  like  a  Gallic  cock  with 
tickled  vanity.  He  stretched  out  his  hands,  and  tried 
with  all  his  might  to  get  at  the  face  whose  sunbeams 
warmed  his  baby  heart. 

Mrs.  Manning's  attention  seemed  wholly  absorbed  in 
the  drawing-strings  of  a  frock  she  was  getting  ready 
for  the  child.  She  said  nothing  to  all  this  praise  of 
her  nursling,  but  continued  with  doAvncast  eyes  and 
blushing  face  to  look  shy  in  the  presence  of  the  strange 
lady.  Madelaine  remembered  that  Miss  Patty  had 
spoken  of  the  nurse  as  a  timid  little  woman  who  had 
seen  better  days,  and  had  not  become  accustomed  to 
her  position  as  a  servant. 


44  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Bat  for  all  that,"  thought  Madelaine,  "  I  don't  like 
a  down  look,  and  it  provokes  me  for  a  person  to  turn 
red  at  me.  It  makes  me  feel  as  if  I  had  done  some- 
thing wrong." 

The  cook's  delight  at  Madelaine's  admiration  of  the 
foundling  Avas  great  and  undisguised. 

"  You  's  right  'bout  de  han'some.  Miss  Madlin.  I 
knowed  you  'd  be  took  wid  dem  eyes.  INIiss  Patty  say 
as  how  dar  ain't  no  woman  could  stan'  out  aginst  'em. 
For  my  part,  I  'se  afeerd  dem  eyes  ain't  put  in  his  head 
for  his  soul's  good,  nohow." 

*•  Let  us  hope  for  the  best,"  said  Madelaine,  cheer- 
fully extricating  her  hair  from  Jack's  predatory  fin- 
gers. 

The  two  were  deep  in  a  conversation  of  delightful 
gibberish,  which  Madelaine  seemed  to  speak  like  a  na- 
tive and  Jack  to  enjoy  to  the  tips  of  his  fingers  and 
toes,  when  the  door  opened,  and  Miss  Patty  walked  in. 
Both  ladies  laughed,  and  Miss  Patty  looked  a  little 
sheepish. 

"  So  you  'ye  come  to  see  the  pet  lamb  and  talk  baby 
talk,  too,"  said  Madelaine,  kissing  her  aunt  good-morn- 
ing. "  We  have  gone  back  to  first  principles,  have  n't 
we?  Who  would  have  thought  it  of  two  old  fogies 
like  you  and  me  ?  On  the  sly,  too !  I  intended  my 
visit  to  be  a  profound  secret.  I  should  n't  be  surprised 
if  Uncle  Larry  came  next.     There  's  Afra,  now  "  — 

But  Afra,  who  by  right  should  have  been  in  the 
kitchen  looking  after  breakfast,  had  vanished  on  her 
mistress's  appearing. 

"  I  came  to  bring  this,"  said  Miss  Patty,  holding  up 
with  pride  and  by  way  of  apology  a  miniature  Con- 


ICl  ON  PARLE  BADY-LONISU.  45 

federate  army  overcoat  she  had  made  for  Jack.  It 
was  of  gray  cloth  lined  with  red,  and  ornamented  with 
army  buttons.  The  old  lady  had  manufactured  it  with 
great  exj^enditure  of  care  and  eyesight,  besides  stitch- 
ing into  its  fabric  as  much  sentiment  as  a  girl  puts,  or 
ought  to  put,  into  her  wedding  gown.  Plying  her  nee- 
dle and  thread  during  many  days,  she  had  combined  in 
thought  as  well  as  work  her  two  uppermost  interests, 
fashioning  a  warm  wrapping  for  the  baby,  and  an  uni- 
form, the  very  sight  of  which  made  her  flagging  pulses 
beat  the  quickstep  of  youth. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  make  him  a  Confederate  sol- 
dier, after  all?"  said  Madelaine.  "What  a  cunning 
little  military  affair  it  is,  to  be  sure  !  " 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  it.  Mrs.  Manning  there  does 
not  like  gray  for  a  baby.  She  thinks  dark  blue  would 
have  been  prettier." 

'•  Mrs.  Manning  forgets  that  the  Yankee  uniform  is 
dark  blue ;  and  we  won't  wear  alien  colors  on  our  baby 
breast,  will  we  Jack  ?  "  said  Madelaine  playfully,  re- 
turning him  to  his  nurse. 

"  Mrs.  Manning  is  English,  you  know,"  put  in  Miss 
Patty,  apologetically,  "  and  does  not  care  for  either 
blue  or  gray  uniforms.  She  is  accustomed  to  red 
coats  for  soldiers.     Red  is  her  color." 

It  seemed  so  indeed,  fi*om  the  hue  her  cheeks  as- 
sumed, being  thus  personally  alluded  to. 

"  What  an  uncomfortable  thing  to  have  one  always 
flushing  up  as  if  every  word  you  said  touched  a  sore 
spot  or  a  guilty  conscience,"  thought  Madelaine. 

Her  attention  was  presently  diverted  by  the  door 
being  cautiously  opened,  and  Larry  peeping  iu.     "I 


46  JACK  HORNER. 

said  so,  Uncle  Larry !  "  she  exclaimed,  turning  on  him 
a  bright,  triumphant  face.  "  I  knew  you  would  come 
after  a  while.  You  were  as  offish  as  anything  last 
night,  but  here  you  are  with  the  rest  of  us  to  pay  your 
respects  to  Master  Jack." 

"  I  came  to  remind  Mrs.  Manning,"  he  said,  as  stiff 
as  you  please,  "  that  this  is  Sunday,  and  she  had  better 
put  the  child's  toys  away  for  the  day." 

"  No  matter  what  brought  you,"  said  his  niece,  rest- 
ing her  hand  on  his  shoulder  for  a  moment,  —  a  caress- 
ing movement  few  persons  were  tempted  to  make,  and 
which  pleased  him  accordingly'.  "  Whatever  our  mo- 
tives, the  fact  remains  that  we  are  all  here,  and  you 
must  confess  that  a  baby  in  the  house  is  a  magnet  of 
the  first  power.     Is  n't  it  so  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so,"  unbending  a  little,  '•  but  they 
ought  not  to  be  made  of  the  first  importance." 

'•  Tell  it  not  in  Gath,  my  soul,"  thought  Madelaine, 
"  but  Uncle  Lariy  is  a  prig." 

"  What  a  wonderful  creature  is  Madelaine !  " 
thought  Miss  Patty  ;  '*  she  does  more  with  Larry  in  a 
day  than  I  in  a  month." 

"  Aunt,"  said  Madelaine,  when  she  and  her  aunt 
were  alone  together,  "  what  kind  of  a  person  is  Mrs. 
Manning  ?  " 

"  Rather  a  nice,  quiet  kind  of  a  person,  with  an  un- 
fortunate facility  for  getting  into  difficulties.  Why  do 
you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  she  seems  so  dreadfully  self-conscious,  so 
skittish  and  shrinking,  I  imagined  she  might  be  a 
woman  with  a  history." 

Miss  Patty  was  silent  for  a  moment.     Then,  lower- 


ICI   ON  PARLE  BABY-LONISH.  47 

ing  her  voice  to  a  confidential  tone,  "  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  the  woman  has  something  of  a  history." 

"  So  ?  " 

"  Nothing  very  thrilling,  but  enough,  perhaps,  to  ac- 
count for  the  manner  you  speak  of.  In  the  first  place, 
you  know  white  servants  are  at  a  disadvantage  with  us. 
They  are  not  on  a  plane  with  their  employers  nor  with 
their  fellow  servants,  and  when  one's  position  is  uncer- 
tain one's  manners  are  apt  to  be  uncertain  too." 

"  I  understand  that.     And  is  that  all  ?  " 

Another  pause.  "  Not  quite.  Mrs.  Manning  and 
her  husband,  who  are  English,  managed  to  stir  up,  as 
English  people  are  liable  to  do,  some  national  preju- 
dices in  the  house  where  they  lodged.  You  know 
what  firebrands  all  national  questions  are  just  now. 
The  Mannings  were  supposed  to  sympathize  with  the 
Yankees,  and  were  pretty  roughly  dealt  with.  They 
imagined  at  one  time  that  their  lives  were  in  danger. 
But  I,  with  some  other  friends,  managed  to  smooth  the 
matter  over,  and  get  them  lodgings  elsewhere.  The 
man,  who  is  a  cripple,  was  plucky  enough,  but  the  little 
woman,  who  was  timid  before,  has  ever  since  had  a 
hunted  look,  as  if  the  police  were  after  her." 

"  So  that 's  the  reason  she  looked  so  red  and  scared 
when  I  spoke  of  alien  colors  ?  " 

"  I  should  n't  be  surprised.  The  very  word  alien  is 
a  sort  of  rawhead  and  bloody-bones  to  her." 

"  I  see.  And  you  are  quite  sure  that  she  is  all  right 
on  our  question  ?  " 

"•  Quite." 

"  Well,  if  you  are  satisfied,  everybody  ought  to  be. 
You  are  the  most  ardent  patriot  I  know." 


48  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Patty,  shaking  her  little  curls  like 
a  lion  and  looking  as  fierce  as  a  lamb,  "  and  I  believe 
the  fact  of  such  a  fire-eater  as  I,  taking  their  part, 
saved  the  man  —  well,  at  least  a  coat  of  tar  and  feath- 
ers." 


VII. 


In  a  letter  written  home  by  Madelaine  soon  after 
her  arrival  in  Richmond  occurred  these  words  concern- 
ing Jack  :  — 

"You  know,  dear  mamma,  all  of  you  thought  I 
was  the  best  person  to  come  and  see  about  what  Dick 
calls  the  Pritchard  baby.  I  thought  so  myself.  It 
seems  to  me  now  I  ought  to  have  known  I  was  the  last 
person  to  be  sent  on  such  a  mission.  But  it  is  easy  to 
be  wise  after  the  event.  How  could  any  one  foresee 
that  the  little  creature  would  run  and  clasp  me  round 
the  knees  at  sight  ?  He  looked  up  in  my  face,  and 
my  heart  went  down  before  the  child  like  Goliath 
before  the  stripling.  Then  who  could  have  guessed 
that  a  chance  baby  left  on  a  doorstep  would  turn  out 
to  be,  not  an  ugly  common  bit  of  humanity,  —  as  we 
were  ready  to  believe,  —  but  a  vision  of  beauty  ?  I 
am  obliged  to  confess  that  he  is  the  handsomest  child 
I  have  ever  seen.  You  know  my  weakness  for  good 
looks,  and  what  papa  calls  my  facility  for  liking  the 
wrong  person  ?  Well,  Jack  being  handsome  and 
presumably  the  wrong  person,  it  was  a  foregone  con- 
clusion that  I  should  lose  my  heart  to  him.  I  am  al- 
most ready  to  declare  that  if  Aunt  Patty  had  not 
adopted  him,  I  should  be  ready  to  do  so  myself  but  for 
want  of  ways  and  means.     I  suspect  that  whoever  left 


50  JACK  HORNER. 

the  child  at  this  house  knew  the  inmates  were  among 
the  very  few  well-to-do  people  in  town.  Not  that  the 
pressure  of  war  times  is  not  felt  here.  Aunt  Patty  has 
given  up  her  horses  to  the  army,  although  they  were 
used  chiefly  in  the  service  of  the  sick  and  wounded. 
She  has  the  plainest  fare  and  only  two  meals  a  day,  in 
order  to  give  more  food  to  the  hungry.  Little  Jack  is 
such  a  delight  to  her  in  these  sad  times  that,  in  spite 
of  all  my  fine  resolutions,  I  have  not  the  heart  to  dis- 
courage her  about  keeping  him.  She  says  it  will  only 
be  until  the  end  of  the  war.  Who  knows  where  any 
of  us  will  be  then  ?  For  my  part,  I  do  not  grudge  any- 
thing she  may  do  for  the  boy,  and  if  you  could  see  him, 
neither  would  you.  Meanwhile,  I  am  curious  to  know 
where  he  came  from,  and  will  find  out  if  I  can."  .  .  . 

The  verdict  of  the  Key  family  on  the  sense  of  this 
letter,  as  voiced  by  Dick,  was  that  "  Madelaine  liad 
gone  clean  over  to  the  enemy." 

Weeks  rolled  by,  and  Madelaine,  having  more  than 
once  gone  off  on  what  turned  out  to  be  a  false  scent, 
became  discouraged,  and  began  to  lose  her  vigilance  in 
the  solution  of  Jack's  mystery. 

The  winter  was  far  advanced,  when  she  was  per- 
suaded one  evening  to  accompany  her  uncle  Larry  to  a 
reception  given  by  a  prominent  member  of  the  Cabinet. 

Gayety  is  never  so  gay,  and  religion  never  so  fervid, 
as  in  a  besieged  city.  Soldiers,  most  dashing  in  the  field, 
carry  a  like  ardor  into  their  pleasures  or  their  prayers, 
as  the  case  may  be.  Women,  most  devoted  to  the  care 
of  the  wounded,  encourage  with  brightest  smiles  men 
seeking  an  opportunity  to  lay  down  their  lives  for  a 
cause.      A  song  or  a  dance  to-night,  a  battle  in  the 


MADAME!  51 

morning ;  dirge  and  jubilate  ever  alternating  as  in 
ordinary  life,  but  at  accelerated  speed  like  pulses 
quickened  by  fever. 

The  secretary's  reception,  given  on  the  evening  of 
Shrove  Tuesday,  and  the  last  of  the  season,  was  a  bril- 
liant affair,  although,  excepting  the  guests,  it  could  not 
boast  a  single  element  of  what  ordinarily  gives  that 
character  to  an  entertainment.  Substitute,  a  word  es- 
pecially applied  to  men  in  the  ranks,  did  duty  in  the 
Confederacy  for  food,  attire,  and  all  the  comforts  of 
life.  Scarcely  anything  was  what  it  pretended  to  be. 
A  cup  of  coffee,  offered  with  all  the  politeness  in  the 
world,  was  really  an  infusion  of  toasted  sweet  potatoes, 
and  it  would  be  difficult  at  this  late  day  to  explain  the 
mysteries  of  a  glass  of  wine.  INIake-believe  was  re- 
quired on  a  grander  scale  than  ever  taxed  the  Mai"- 
chioness's  powers  of  imagination.  A  banquet  was 
much  after  the  fashion  of  children's  parties,  where  haw- 
berries  pass  for  fruit,  and  acorn  cups  of  dew  for  beak- 
ers of  champagne.  It  was  the  same  with  dress.  Old 
chests  were  ransacked  for  the  discarded  finery  of  better 
days,  as  children  overhaul  the  treasures  of  a  garret  on 
a  holiday.  Fashionable  costume  had  its  pathetic  as 
well  as  its  humorous  side.  To  a  well-dressed  foreigner 
who  succeeded  in  running  the  blockade,  a  Confederate 
ball-room  might  well  have  provoked  a  smile.  There, 
venerable  shreds  of  velvet  and  brocade  mingled  on 
equal  terms  with  toilets  of  curtain  muslin  and  printed 
cotton.  There,  the  happy  possessor  of  skirts  enor- 
mously inflated  by  crinoline  trod  the  same  measure 
with  limp  draperies,  and  ornaments  of  every  date  since 
the  days  of  Pocahontas  were  thrown  in  haphazard. 


52  JACK  HORNER. 

To  one  looking  deeper  than  the  surface,  this  deck- 
ing the  revels  of  to-day  with  the  worn  habiliments  of  a 
dead  past  was  more  sad  than  amusing.  That  the  gala 
garments  of  the  women  of  the  Revolution  should  reap- 
pear, as  they  often  did,  to  welcome  heroes  from  battle- 
fields where  the  great  work  of  the  Revolution  was  being 
undone,  was  full  of  grave  suggestion.  But  the  young 
people  thought  only  of  the  present,  and  enjoyed  them- 
selves as  much  as  if  their  dresses  had  been  new,  and 
their  champagne  the  juice  of  the  grape.  It  is  a  ques- 
tion if  pleasures  are  not  enhanced  in  proportion  to  their 
draught  upon  the  imagination.  At  any  rate,  life  was 
new,  and  their  spirits  better  than  wine. 

The  entertainment  on  this  occasion  was  a  notewor- 
thy assembly  of  distinguished  persons  from  all  parts  of 
the  South.  Richmond  being  a  social  as  well  as  a  mili- 
tary and  political  centre,  what  there  was  of  g-enius  not 
in  the  army  was  in  the  capital.  The  secretary's  rooms 
were  filled  with  representatives  of  what  was  best  in  the 
country.  Pretty  women,  clever  men,  gallant  soldiers,  a 
sprinkling  of  foreigners,  one  penniless  prince,  one  be- 
blanketed  Indian,  several  cabinet  ministers,  and  the 
President  were  there.  It  was  at  the  solicitation  of 
Miss  Patty,  who  thought  the  occasion  an  opportunity 
not  to  be  lost,  that  Madelaine  Key  was  present,  avow- 
edly as  an  observer  rather  than  a  participator  in  its 
pleasures.  Madelaine,  who  was  in  mourning,  believed 
that  pleasure  was  at  an  end  as  far  as  she  was  con- 
cerned. But  she  enjoyed  herself  more  than  she  knew. 
Her  intelligence  at  least  was  fully  alive  to  the  situ- 
ation, which  included  much  that  was  interesting  to  a 
looker-on. 


MADAME!  53 

Early  in  the  evening,  she  found  herself  the  centre  of 
a  group  of  girls  making  merry  over  an  enterprise  they 
had  on  foot.  Her  black  dress  and  grave  countenance 
■were  strongly  accentuated  by  their  gay  attire  and  laugh- 
ing faces.  More  than  one  pair  of  eyes  singled  her  out 
as  a  nice-looking  person  and  a  stranger. 

"  The  lady  in  black  by  the  mantel-piece,  who  did 
you  say  she  was  ? "  asked  a  ruddy,  white-whiskered 
man,  quite  by  chance  as  it  were,  lest  he  might  be  con- 
sidered too  old  for  that  kind  of  thing. 

The  question  was  greeted  with  laughter.  The  knot 
of  men  to  whom  it  was  addressed  happened,  by  a  not 
infrequent  coincidence,  to  be  looking  in  the  same  direc- 
tion and  thinking  the  same  thing,  but  nobody  had 
spoken. 

"  We  have  not  said,"  bluntly  responded  the  readiest 
speaker,  who  strange  to  say  was  an  Englishman,  and 
yet  not  so  strange,  seeing  that  he  was  also  a  newspaper 
war  correspondent,  —  a  tall,  stiff-backed  Bi-iton  who, 
in  pursuance  of  his  profession,  was  a  looker-on  at  Con- 
federate feasts  or  fights,  as  they  occurred.  Now  that 
the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  was  in  winter-quarters, 
he  occupied  himself  with  the  study  of  the  social  aspect 
of  things.  He  went  everywhere,  and  always  had  plenty 
to  say. 

"  We  have  not  said,  only  because  we  do  not  know," 
politely  interposed  a  festive  little  Frenchman  with  a 
glass  in  his  eye,  a  flower  in  his  button-hole,  and  hair 
and  beard  in  trimmest  perfection,  who  likewise  went 
everywhere,  not  as  the  Englishman  for  business,  but 
for  pleasure.  He  was  an  immense  favorite  in  society, 
his  courtesy  being  in  inverse  proportion  to  his  size. 


54  JACK  HORNER. 

which  was  diminutive.  "  I  should  like  to  know  who 
she  is,  I  am  sure,"  he  added,  using  his  English  with 
the  careful  deliberation  of  a  well-bred  foreigner,  which 
gave  distinction  to  everything  he  said. 

A  young  man,  in  the  uniform  of  an  artillery  officer, 
with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  darkly  sunburnt  face  and  clear 
blue  eyes,  looked,  and  said  nothing. 

He  found  the  lady  not  only  nice  looking,  but  some- 
thing about  her  touched  a  chord  of  memory. 

"  Had  he  seen  her  before,  or  was  it  that  she  reminded 
him  of  some  one  he  knew  ?  "  His  puzzled  face  was  an 
open  book. 

"  Major  Dallas  will  find  out  for  us,"  said  the  white- 
whiskered  speaker. 

The  young  officer  laughed  with  good-humored  em- 
barrassment. The  blood  for  a  moment  showed  red  be- 
neath his  swarthy  skin. 

"  1  am  trying  to  remember  if  I  have  ever  seen  the 
lady,"  he  said,  averting  his  eyes  with  a  sudden  convic- 
tion that  he  had  been  staring.  Clearly,  one  of  his 
interesting  points  was  an  expressive  countenance,  and 
its  expressions  were  those  of  frank,  unassuming  man- 
liness. Indeed,  Major  Dallas  was  a  marked  man  in 
everybody's  eyes  but  his  own.  He  was  one  of  Jack- 
son's men,  and  Jackson,  who  stamped  armies  with  his 
genius,  once  in  a  while  left  his  impress  on  individuals 
susceptible  to  his  influence.  Hugh  Dallas  was  one  of 
these.  He  had  more  than  once  been  conspicuous  for  gal- 
lantry on  the  field,  and  as  often  been  recommended  for 
promotion.  Like  Jackson  he  was  a  brilliant  and  tire- 
less fighter,  but  outside  his  profession  he  had  made  no 
especial  mark.     He  had  none  of  the  talent  for  society 


MADAME!  55 

which,  like  the  plumes  on  a  helmet,  adorns  most  war- 
riors. Dallas  was  a  man's  man.  An  untoward  cir- 
cumstance had  given  his  mind  a  hias  against  women, 
which  up  to  this  time  had  not  been  set  straight. 

"  I  think  madame  is  a  stranger.  I  have  not  met  her 
in  society  before,"  said  the  little  Frenchman. 

"  Madanje  ?  "  exclaimed  Dallas,  with  interrogation 
points  in  both  eyes. 

"Ah,  I  see,"  said  the  other  with  a  pleasant  laugh. 
"  I  called  her  madame.  You  would  like  her  to  be 
mademoiselle?  Well — peut-etre,"  with,  an  airy  shrug 
o£  the  shoulders. 

"  Here  comes  Ellis.  He  knows  everybody.  We 
will  ask  him,"  said  the  war  correspondent,  seeing  a 
gentleman  steering  his  way  towards  them  through 
the  crowd. 

"  Know  her  ?  "  said  the  newcomer.  "  Bless  my 
soul !  I  've  known  her  since  she  was  a  baby.  Now 
is  n't  she  nice  looking  ?  Her  name  is  Key,  daughter 
of  my  friend  Lawrence  Key,  of  Amherst,  my  county, 
you  know." 

Dallas  glanced  at  the  Frenchman,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "  You  see  you  were  wrong  about  the  madame." 

The  latter  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  again. 

"  Character  in  her  face.  Looks  as  if  she  were  all 
there,"  said  the  war  correspondent. 

He  of  the  white  whiskers  was  about  to  say  something 
more,  when  the  blare  of  a  military  band  in  the  hall 
playing  "  Dixie  "  put  an  end  to  intelligible  conversa- 
tion, and  the  company  began  to  move  about. 

Meanwhile,  Madelaine,  whose  companions  had  for 
the  most  part  scattered,  was  left  alone  on  a  sofa  with 


5Q  JACK  HORNER. 

Miss  Disney,  a  pretty  girl,  who,  dressed  in  her  great- 
grandmother's  wedding  gown,  was  reanimating  the  long- 
buried  garment  with  vivacious  spirits  as  slie  pointed 
out  to  Madelaine  the  lions  of  the  evening. 

Miss  Disney,  who  had  the  uncommon  name  of 
Boadicea,  reduced  among  her  friends  to  Bo,  pres- 
ently became  aware  of  the  group  whose  attention  was 
directed  towards  the  sofa,  and  her  eye  at  once  singled 
out  Major  Dallas  as  the  newest  and  most  imposing 
figure.  The  others  were  acquaintances  of  a  season's 
standing. 

Madelaine,  unconscious  of  the  glances  she  attracted, 
was  carrying  out  her  role  of  observer  by  studying  the 
appearance  of  a  young  man  who,  she  had  been  told, 
was  the  champion  chess-player  of  the  world. 

"  So  that  is  Paul  JMorphy,  the  man  who  plays  a  dozen 
games  at  once,  and  wins  them  all,"  she  said,  trying  to 
appreciate  the  wonders  of  the  performance,  without 
feeling  much  interest  in  his  bloodless  victories. 

"  Yes,  but  that  is  all  he  can  do.  He  has  n't  a  word 
to  say.  He  would  put  you  to  sleep  in  five  minutes. 
"We  girls  call  him  Paul  Morphia,"  said  Bo,  more  in- 
terested in  a  hero  who  had  won  his  spurs  on  a  broader 
field  than  a  chessboard.  "  Don't  waste  any  more  time 
on  a  mere  chessman.  There  goes  a  real  one,  Major 
Dallas." 

"  "Where  ?  "  asked  Madelaine,  with  an  accession  of 
interest.  The  "  noble  art  of  murdering  "  possesses  pe- 
culiar fascination  for  women,  and  Major  Dallas's  name 
was  in  everybody's  mouth.  "  I  see  a  dozen  majors," 
looking  in  every  direction  but  the  right  one. 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  mean   those  spick-and-span  ones 


MADAME!  57 

dancing  round  the  President.  Don't  you  see  oA-er 
there  an  officer  with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  and  out  of 
whose  uniform  wind  and  weather  have  taken  as  much 
color  as  they  have  put  into  his  complexion  ?  " 

"Is  that  Major  Dallas?"  asked  Madelaine  in  deep- 
toned  astonishment,  her  face  brightening  with  a  flash 
of  recognition  as  her  glance  fell  on  the  person  who, 
with  the  wounded  lad,  had  occupied  seats  in  front  of 
her  in  the  railway  car.  There  was  no  mistaking  the 
line  square  head,  the  vigorous  waves  of  brown  hair,  the 
broad  shoulders  in  faded  gray  uniform,  which  she  had 
had  an  opportunity  of  studying  at  close  range  some 
weeks  before.  As  the  major  turned,  a  sight  of  his 
bronzed  face  and  keen  blue  eyes  dispelled  any  doubt 
she  may  have  had. 

"  He  will  not  know  me"  she  thought,  remembering 
that,  besides  being  seated  behind  him,  she  had  worn  a 
veil  on  the  occasion. 

''  Have  you  met  Major  Dallas  before  ?  "  asked  Bo, 
catching  the  note  of  recognition  in  Madelaine's  voice. 

"  I  have  seen  him  once  before,  but  quite  accidentally, 
without  knowing  who  he  was." 

"  He  is  a  man  to  know !  "  said  Bo  enthusiastically. 
"  General  Lee,  in  his  report  of  Fredericksburg,  called 
him  '  the  gallant  Major  Dallas,'  and  Stonewall,  at 
Sharp  sburg,  said  an  army  ought  to  have  a  Dallas  on 
each  flank.     Think  of  that !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  breathed  Madelaine,  with  full-throated  ad- 
miration. 

Her  friend  Bo  was  a  bright  creature,  whose  sparkling 
prettiness  was  so  set  off  by  her  old-fashioned  gown  as 
to  suggest  a  jewel  in  antique  setting.     Mr.  Px-itchard, 


58  JACK  HORNER. 

by  way  of  keeping  an  eye  on  his  niece  during  the  even- 
ing, in  reality  kept  both  eyes  on  Bo.  His  glasses,  or- 
dinarily used  for  a  momentary  glance,  he  forgot  to  take 
off  except  to  wipe  them  in  order  to  get  a  clearer  view 
of  her  face. 

Larry,  in  spite  of  many  things  which  seemed  to 
point  to  an  opposite  conclusion,  had  a  keen  apprecia- 
tion of  feminine  beauty.  There  could  scarcely  exist  a 
greater  difference  in  personal  appearance  than  that 
between  his  niece  and  Boadicea,  —  a  difference  so 
marked  that  their  points  of  resemblance  •  heightened 
their  individuality.  Both,  for  instance,  had  luminous 
eyes  ;  but  Bo's,  like  windows  lit  by  the  setting  sun,  re- 
flected their  evanescent  brightness  from  without,  while 
Madelaine's,  like  windows  glowing  with  the  radiance 
of  home  and  fireside,  shone  with  a  steady  light  from 
within.  Then  Bo's  slim  figure,  clear  girlish  tones,  and 
arch  face  tinted  with  the  delicate  hues  of  spring 
were  to  Madelaine's  harmonious  development,  rich 
voice,  and  soft  complexion,  as  early  blossom  to  perfect 
fruit.  In  the  nature  of  things,  these  two  did  not  re- 
main together  long. 

Boadicea,  an  acknowledged  belle,  was  swept  away 
by  one  or  more  admirers  into  the  stream  of  gayety 
that  circled  round  Prince  P.  who  was  not  only,  nor 
chiefly,  a  prince,  but  a  good  fellow  and  ardent  soldier. 

When  the  music  was  at  its  noisiest,  Mr.  Ellis,  who 
claimed  to  have  known  Madelaine  from  babyhood, 
presented  to  her  "  his  friend  Major  Dallas." 

Luckily,  they  had  learned  each  other's  names  in 
advance.  It  was  impossible  to  make  one's  self  heard 
with  the  fanfare  of  "  Dixie  "  going  on  behind  them. 


MADAME!  59 

The  actors  in  the  dumb  show  could  only  bow  and  smile, 
Dallas  not  a  little  impatiently.  Now  that  he  was  near 
Madelaine,  the  indefinable  something  which  had  struck 
him  as  a  reminiscence  was  more  apparent  than  ever. 
He  was  anxious  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  the  mystery. 

That  Madelaine  was  nice  looking  had  much,  but  the 
indefinable  something  had  more,  to  do  with  his  desire 
for  an  introduction.  He  was  notoriously  not  a  society 
nor  a  lady's  man.  This  was  the  first  time  a  ball-room 
had  ever  possessed  an  atom  of  interest  for  him,  and  he 
followed  it  up  with  the  zeal  he  carried  into  all  his  pur- 
suits. 

Madelaine  made  the  initial  step  easy.  In  the  first 
pause  of  the  music  she  said,  '"We  have  met  before, 
Major  Dallas." 

"  It  seems  so,  indeed,"  eagerly,  "  and  yet  I  don't  un- 
derstand how  I  can  have  forgotten  when  and  where." 

"  A  lady's  veil  often  puts  one  at  a  disadvantage." 

"  Ah,  you  were  veiled  on  the  occasion  ?  That 
partly  accounts.  But  I  hoped  when  I  heard  you 
speak,  your  voice  would  give  me  the  clue.  I  rarely 
forget  a  voice,  but  yours  does  not  recall  our  meeting." 

"  I  did  not  speak,"  smiling  at  his  puzzled  face. 

He  shook  his  head  in  hopeless  mystification. 

"  You  remember,"  she  said,  "  the  day  in  the  cars 
when  you  were  bringing  to  Richmond  a  young  man 
who  had  been  badly  wounded  ?  " 

*■'  And  you  are  that  lady  ?  "  perplexity  cleai'ing  from 
his  brow  like  mists  at  sunrise.  "  How  stupid  of  me 
not  to  have  known  !  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  have 
looked  forward  to  meeting  you  again,"  he  said  so 
warmly  that  Madelaine  glanced  round  to  be  sure  that 


60  JACK  HORNER. 

he  was  not  observed.  "  I  wanted  to  thank  you  for 
your  kindness  that  day." 

"  What  became  of  your  companion  ?  "  asked  Made- 
laine  gently. 

A  shadow  fell  across  the  major's  eyes.  "Young 
Fairfax  ?     Poor  fellow,  he  died  the  next  day." 

*'  I  was  so  sorry  I  did  not  ask  what  hospital  you 
were  taking  him  to.  My  aunt,  Miss  Pritchard,  and  I 
looked  everywhere  for  him  next  morning,  and  were 
told  that  no  such  person  had  been  brought  in." 

"  That  Is  true.  A  kinsman  of  Fairfax's,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  at  the  station,  insisted  on  taking  him  to  his 
house,  and  the  poor  boy  died  among  his  own  people." 

"That  must  have  been  a  comfort,"  sighed  Made- 
laine,  remembering  how  the  youth's  face  had  bright- 
ened at  her  trifling  attention. 

Dallas  was  thinking  of  the  same  thing. 

*'  You  know  I  have  your  handkerchief  still,"  he 
said.  "  I  knew  I  should  meet  you  some  day  to  give  it 
back  to  you,  and  tell  you  that  Fairfax  clung  to  it  until 
he  died  ;  and  for  myself,  until  ni}^  own  dying  day,  the 
odor  of  cologne  Avill  remind  me  of  you  and  of  him." 

Madelaine's  eyes  filled. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  know  I  gave  you  and  the  dear  boy 
a  moment's  gratification,  and  I  did  so  little,  after  all. 
But  pray,  don't  trouble  yourself  about  the  handker- 
chief. It  has  no  value  except  that  it  served  to  refresh 
you  both." 

"  But  I  should  like  to  give  it  back  to  you.  If  I,  too, 
get  my  quietus,"  with  a  half  smile,  not  to  appear  too 
grave  on  the  occasion,  '•  it  may  help  to  keep  the  mem- 
ory of  Fairfax  and  myself  green  in  your  thoughts." 


MADAME!  61 

''  Men  like  Fairfax  and  yourself  need  nothing  to 
keep  your  laurels  or  your  memory  green,  Major  Dal- 
las," said  Madelaine,  touched  to  enthusiasm  by  the  war 
spirit  that  burned  in  every  heart,  and  only  needed  a 
breath  to  fan  it  into  flame.  The  presence  of  a  man 
like  Dallas,  who  had  won  distinction  on  many  fields, 
and  whose  appearance  corresponded  with  his  reputation 
of  a  successful  and  well-seasoned  soldier,  was  as  inspir- 
ing as  reveille. 

Madelaine,  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  was  only  too 
glad  to  crown  him  with  laurels,  and  strew  roses,  the 
more  the  bettei',  in  his  path.  To  her,  he  was  the  rep- 
resentative of  an  idea,  while  she  to  him  was  a  delight- 
ful reality.  What  at  a  distance  he  had  found  nice 
looking,  within  the  radius  of  her  personal  influence  be- 
came every  moment  more  attractive.  Her  earnest 
manner,  and  the  ring  of  suppressed  enthusiasm  in  her 
voice  as  she  said,  "  Men  like  Fairfax  and  yourself," 
were  subtlest  incense  to  the  soldier.  His  spirits  rose 
as  when,  on  the  battlefield,  his  general  rang  out,  "  Well 
done,  major !  " 

One  does  not  always  say  one's  best  on  occasions. 
The  chances  are  that  one  does  not.  Dallas  could  think 
of  nothing  more  original  than,  "  You  are  very  good, 
I  'm  sure."  But  glance  and  tone  filled  out  the  meas- 
ure of  his  meaning. 

Madelaine  thought  she  had  never  seen  so  manly 
a  face  so  transparent  in  expression,  —  a  peculiarity 
which  was  as  distinct  an  addition  to  his  words  as  are 
fine  illustrations  to  text.  To  look  yes  when  one  says 
yes  lends  grace  even  to  affirmation.  The  major,  with 
prominent   brow    and    the    massive   jaw   of   the    born 


62  JACK  nORNER. 

fighter,  would  have  been  plain  but  for  this  speaking 
quality  of  countenance.  It  reminded  Madelaine  of 
what  she  had  read  of  Garrick,  whose  eyes  were  said 
to  have  been  more  eloquent  than  a  brace  of  tongues. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  have  been  wounded  since  we 
met,"  glancing  at  his  arm. 

"  Yes,  in  a  futile  skirmish  near  Fredericksburg. 
It 's  a  great  bore.  Luckily  for  me  there  has  been  no 
fighting  lately.  I  suj^pose  we  shall  be  at  it  again  soon, 
and  then  I  hope  to  be  well.  Just  now,  my  arm  and 
army  affairs  keep  me  here.  I  am  combining  business, 
not  with  i^leasure  exactly,  but  —  with  pain,"  he  added, 
as  a  twinge  in  his  arm  made  itself  felt. 

Madelaine  was  beginning  to  be  interested  in  her  new 
acquaintance,  apart  from  his  character  of  hero,  when 
the  bevy  of  girls.  Miss  Disney  included,  who  had  dis- 
persed from  her  vicinity  earlier  in  the  evening,  came 
flocking  back,  bringing  their  young  men  with  them. 
Whatever  niay  have  been  the  reason  for  this  unex- 
pected return,  the  result  was  that  Major  Dallas  was  in- 
troduced all  around,  and  there  was  an  end  to  his  quiet 
talk  with  Madelaine.  They  were  separated  before  she 
had  given  him  her  address  for  the  return  of  the  hand- 
kerchief. 

Larry,  who  in  the  mean  time  had  made  a  circuit  of  the 
rooms  and  spoken  to  all  the  youngest  and  prettiest  girls, 
asking  each  how  many  beaux  she  had  and  why  she  did 
not  make  haste  and  get  married,  his  formula  for  being 
chatty  and  agreeable  at  a  party,  was  tired  and  wanted 
to  go  home. 

"  Certainly,  Uncle  Larry,"  said  Madelaine,  when 
approached  on  the  subject.     "  We  have  seen  the  lions 


MADAME!  63 

and  ^eat  folk,  and  now  we  will  go  home  and  tell  Aunt 
Patty  all  about  it." 

It  was  difficult  to  resist  such  cordial  acquiescence. 
Larry  was  moved  to  say  to  his  niece,  who  was  helping 
his  near-sighted  eyes  to  find  his  hat,  "  You  are  all  sorts 
of  a  woman,  Madelaine." 

When  Dallas  had  succeeded  in  politely  extricating 
himself  from  the  gi'oup  of  young  persons  who  sur- 
rounded and  mercilessly  lionized  him,  he  found  to  his 
regret  that  Madelaine  had  disappeared. 

She  was  muffling  herself  in  cloak  and  hood  in  the 
ladies'  dressing-room,  when  a  brilliant  figure  on  tiptoe 
appeared  in  the  doorway.  It  was  Bo,  with  laugh- 
ing eyes,  her  finger  on  her  lips,  looking  first  over  one 
shoulder  and  then  the  other  to  be  sure  that  nobody  was 
within  earshot. 

"  Madelaine,"  she  whispered,  convulsed  with  laugh- 
ter, —  "  Madelaine,  what  do  you  think  ?  " 

Her  mirth  was  contagious. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  said  Madelaine, 
laughing  too. 

"  Your  Uncle  Larry  —    Oh,  dear  !  " 

"  Has  Uncle  Larry  been  amusing  ?  "  greatly  sur- 
prised. 

"  Yes  !     Would  you  have  believed  it  ?     Oh,  dear  !  " 

"  Now,  Bo,  don't  keep  me  in  suspense.  I  left  Uncle 
LaiTy  in  the  hall  getting  into  his  overcoat  in  a  per- 
fectly serious  frame  of  mind." 

"  That  may  be,  but  as  I  was  coming  up  to  get  my 
things,  I  met  him  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  where  they 
turn  off  in  that  dark  corner.  Nobody  was  near,  and 
what  do  you  think  he  did  ?  " 


64  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Run  away  ?  " 

"  No,  no  !  He  caught  my  hands  and  squeezed  them. 
Oh,  my  !  " 

The  girl's  eyes  and  mouth  were  radiant  with  fun, 
her  white  shoulders  shaking  with  laughter. 

"  Bo,"  said  Madelaine  sternly,  although  the  cor- 
ners of  her  lips  quivered,  —  "  Bo,  I  don't  believe  you." 

"  Honest  Indian,  Madelaine.  I  was  as  much  sur- 
prised as  you  are.  If  a  saint  had  risen  out  of  the 
grave,  or  a  fish  out  of  the  sea,  and  squeezed  my  hands, 
I  could  n't  have  been  more  astonished." 

"  Bo,"  said  Madelaine,  gathering  up  her  skirts  to  de- 
part, and  gravely  regarding  the  beautiful  girl,  "  I  don't 
know  what  to  make  of  Uncle  Larry.  I  suppose  you 
took  the  old  gentleman's  breath  away.  You  know  you 
have  the  kind  of  face  to  bewilder  a  man." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Bo  simply,  winding  a  filmy  old 
lace  scarf  about  her  head  and  throat,  which  made  her 
look  like  a  rose  caught  in  a  cobweb  and  more  bewitch- 
ing than  ever.  "  Men  are  certainly  very  silly.  But  I 
can't  wear  a  mask,  and  I  forewarn  you,"  laughing, 
"  that  I  am  not  trying  to  entrap  your  uncle.  You 
know  the  women  always  abuse  me  when  their  men 
come  to  grief." 

"  I  can  believe  that  yours  is  a  case  of  involuntary 
attraction.  Besides,  I  think  you  have  other  views  than 
for  Uncle  Larry." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  with  heightened  color, 
but  still  laughing.  "  These  are  hard  times,  and  your 
uncle  might  do  for  Auld  Robin  Gray." 

"  You  are  too  saucy.     Good-night." 

It  was  getting  late.    Hugh  Dallas  was  taking  a  sand- 


MADAME!  60 

wicli  and  a  glass  of  wine  in  the  supper-room,  now  de- 
serted except  for  a  few  men  similarly  engaged.  Among 
these,  he  stumbled  upon  the  party  with  whom  he  began 
the  evening. 

"  So  you  were  introduced  to  the  lady,  Dallas  ?  "  said 
the  elderly  man  with  white  whiskers,  taking  ujj  the  sub- 
ject where  it  had  been  dropped. 

"  Yes,  thanks  to  Mr.  Ellis,"  said  Hugh,  who  had  his 
wits  about  him  now,  and  could  talk  society  talk  with 
the  best  of  them,  "to  whom  I  owe  my  acknowledg- 
ments." 

"  No  need  of  that,  major,"  said  Ellis,  busy  with 
supper.  "  It  was  a  mutual  pleasure,  I  '11  be  bound. 
You  found  her  all  you  anticipated,  I  hope." 

'"  Yes,  and  more.  I  found  it  was  not  the  first  time 
I  had  seen  her.     That  was  what  puzzled  me." 

"  Come,"  said  the  war  correspondent,  who,  having 
swept  aside  the  ends  of  a  ferocious  mustache  as  if  he 
meant  business,  was  indulging  an  heroic  appetite  with 
unlimited  sandwiches,  "  it  's  not  worth  while  making 
excuses.  As  our  French  friend  honestly  confessed,  we 
were  all  interested.  Only  this  sly  fellow,"  indicating 
the  elderly  person,  "  wanted  to  find  out  who  the  lady 
was  without  appearing  to  do  so." 

"  You  and  your  French  friend,"  retorted  the  elderly 
person,  "  play  to  society  the  part  of  chorus  to  Greek 
tragedy,  that  of  understanding  and  explaining  every- 
thing." 

"  There,  Albion,  see  what  you  have  brought  upon 
me,  who  have  not  offended,"  said  the  little  Frenchman 
in  his  charmingly  precise  way,  sipping  a  glass  of 
what  in  the  Confederacy  passed  for  wine,  but  in  which 


QQ  JACK  HORNER. 

he  could  not  discover  even  a  trace  of  the  traditional 
"  Veritas." 

"  By  the  bye,"  said  Dallas,  turning  to  Ellis,  "  Miss 
Key  tells  me  your  place  adjoins  her  father's  in  Am- 
herst." 

"  That 's  true.  Did  n't  I  mention  It  ?  That 's  the 
reason  we  know  each  other  so  well.  But  you  make  one 
mistake,  the  lady  is  not  Miss  but  Mrs.  Key." 

'•  Aha-a-a !  "  murmured  the  little  Frenchman,  put- 
ting down  his  glass,  and  rubbing  his  delicate  palms 
softly  together.     "  Aha-a-a  !  " 

Dallas,  whose  heart  gave  a  great  thump  at  the  infor- 
mation, could  have  throttled  him.  He  wondered  if  the 
confounded  glass  the  fellow  held  screwed  in  his  eye 
had  enabled  him  to  see  better  than  another.  But  hav- 
ing had  a  taste  of  the  company's  chaff  he  held  himself 
in  hand.  "  Indeed  ?  "  he  said,  carefully  flicking  a 
crumb  from  his  coat.  "  That  brass  band  made  such  a 
noise  I  could  only  guess  what  you  were  saying  when 
you  introduced  me.  I  understood  you  to  say  her  fa- 
ther's name  was  Key,  and  "  — 

"  The  most  natural  mistake  in  the  world,  my  dear 
fellow,"  interrupted  Ellis.  "  She  is  constantly  taken 
for  Miss  Key,  living  at  home  with  her  father,  and  so 
young  and  pretty,  too.  The  fact  is,  they  would  all  like 
to  forget  that  she  is  not  Miss  Key.  Her  marriage,  the 
most  unfortunate  "  — 

"  So  she  is  raadame  ?  "  la  ughed  the  war  correspon- 
dent, "  and  our  French  friend  was  right  after  all ! 
That  is  a  good  joke.  You  see,"  to  the  elderly  person, 
"  you  spoke  truly,  the  chorus  understands  and  explains 
everything." 


MADAME!  G7 

Dallas  asked  a  passing  servant  for  a  glass  of  water. 
All  his  talk  made  him  tliirsty,  or  something,  he  could 
not  quite  tell  what.  It  was  like  when  a  hoy  he  was 
told  for  the  first  time  that  Santa  Claus  was  not  a  real 
person. 

"  Is  the  lady's  husband  here  to-night  ?  "  asked  the 
elderly  man,  who  had  a  thirst  for  miscellaneous  infor- 
mation and  was  not  to  be  deterred  by  chaff  from  the 
pursuit  of  knowledge. 

"  Her  husband  here  to-night  ?  "  echoed  Ellis.  "  Hea- 
ven forbid  !  he  has  been  dead  three  years." 

"  Aha,  she  is  a  widow  !  Then  all  is  not  lost,"  said 
the  Frenchman,  whose  keen  smile  gave  point  but  never 
poison  to  what  he  said. 

Dallas  looked  conspicuously  unconcerned. 

The  elderly  person,  by  dint  of  perseverance,  got  the 
rest  of  the  story. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellis,  "  she  married  a  man  of  the  same 
name,  —  a  first  cousin,  a  double  first,  in  fact.  The 
family  did  everything  in  the  world  to  prevent  it,  but 
it  was  a  desperate  love  affair,  which  began  when  they 
were  children.  She  was  eighteen  and  he  about  twenty- 
five  when  they  were  married,  some  five  years  ago.  I 
saw  the  whole  affair  from  beginning  to  end.  Luckily, 
he  lived  only  two  years." 

"  Was  he  so  bad  as  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  utterly  good  for  nothing.  But  he  was  an  out- 
rageously handsome  fellow.  No  one  man  has  a  right 
to  so  much  beauty.  The  women,  of  course,  turned  his 
head  completely,  and  at  the  age  of  twenty  Minor  Key 
put  his  feet  on  an  inclined  plane,  and  went  straight  to 
the  dogs  as  fast  as  dissipation  could  carry  him." 


68  JACK  HORNER. 

"  And  that  was  the  end  of  Love's  young  dream,  the 
lady  disillusioned,  I  suppose,"  said  the  \yar  correspon- 
dent, topping  off  with  a  draught  of  punch  made  of 
the  real  thing,  whiskey  being  a  vintage  that  is  never 
allowed  to  fail. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  She  never  understood  what  a 
scamp  he  was,  and  has  never  ceased  to  mourn  for  him. 
He  took  himself  off  just  in  time  for  his  reputation  as 
far  as  she  was  concerned,  and  died  in  the  sanctity  of 
youth  and  good  looks." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  the  Frenchman,  who,  having  an 
internal  and  fairly  victorious  struggle  with  th  when- 
ever it  occurred,  spoke  slowly,  "  that  it  is  one  of  the 
compensations  of  humanity  that  what  you  call  the 
scamps  have  the  best  time  in  this  world." 

"  Now  none  of  your  French  immorality,  Gaul,"  said 
Albion,  winding  up  his  repast  by  dry-rubbing  his  mus- 
tache with  his  napkin. 

"  It  is  late,"  said  the  elderly  person,  who  cared  more 
for  facts  than  for  moral  reflections,  "  and  I  must  say 
good-night." 

"  Good-night,"  returned  the  little  Frenchman,  glass 
in  eye,  crush  hat  under  his  arm,  and  tiny  patent  leather 
pumps  in  line,  as  he  bowed  from  his  waist,  "  and  I 
must  thank  you  for  my  part  of  the  compliment  to  the 
Greek  chorus,  also  for  your  getting  out  all  the  facts 
concerning  the  charming  widow." 

The  elderly  person  laughed  a  little  foolishly,  and, 
muttering  something  about  the  alliance  between  English 
and  French  being  Gaul  and  wormwood,  took  him- 
self off. 

The  party  separated. 


MADAME!  69 

Hugh  Dallas,  who  had  suffered  one  mental  shock  on 
learning  that  his  interesting  acquaintance  was  married, 
experienced  another  on  being  informed  that  she  was  a 
widow. 

It  was  like  being  plunged  first  in  hot  water  and  then 
in  cold.     He  did  not  know  which  he  liked  least. 


VIII. 

A   STUDY   IN    GKAY. 

•  Lent  came  early  in  1863.  The  day  after  the  re- 
ception, which  took  place  about  the  middle  of  Febru- 
ary, was  Ash  Wednesday.  Madelaine  began  the  peni- 
tential season  with  good  resolutions  and  by  going  to 
church  at  dawn.  Before  she  was  out  of  bed,  and  while 
she  was  dressing,  she  heard  the  solemn,  continuous 
tramp  of  feet  and  hoofs  that  was  one  of  the  features 
of  the  time.  Troops  were  constantly  on  the  move.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  at  whatever  hour  of  the  night  she 
woke  there  was  this  tread  of  a  voiceless,  never  ending 
army  which  followed  into  her  dreams,  so  that  sleeping 
or  waking  she  was  conscious  of  the  presence  of  war. 

"When  she  let  herself  out  of  the  house  she  saw  defil- 
ing through  the  street  an  host  of  armed  men.  The 
gray  of  a  winter  dawn,  hanging  like  a  veil  over  the 
town,  converged  in  a  moving  mass  of  gi'ay  coats  march- 
ing on  and  on  from  a  dull  horizon  in  the  west  towards 
the  sun  coming  slowly  from  a  bank  of  clouds  in  the 
east. 

"  Dear  fellows  !  How  many  of  you  will  pass  through 
Richmond  again  ?"  she  thought,  her  eyes  filling  with 
tears.  A  gleam  of  sunshine  caught  the  oncoming  bay- 
onets, which,  flashing  brightly,  seemed  to  rebuke  her 
sad  question. 


A   STUDY  IN  GRAY.  71 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  furtively  wiping  her  eyes,  *'  no 
tears  ;  a  woman's  first  duty  is  to  be  cheerful." 

She  stood  on  the  topmost  of  the  house-door  steps  and 
smiled  a  brave,  gay  smile.  She  even  fluttered  a  corner 
of  her  handkerchief.  In  a  moment,  five  hundred  — 
well,  she  never  knew  how  many  — caps  were  raised. 
The  whole  division,  or  at  least  that  portion  of  it  under 
her  eyes,  smiled  back  with  as  quick  and  bright  reflection 
as  the  gleaming  bayonets  gave  the  sun.  Officers  and 
men  must  all  have  been  looking  her  way.  Indeed,  a 
Confederate  soldier  never  failed  to  give  a  lady  the 
tribute  of  a  glance. 

Doubtless  they  went  on  their  way  to  fight,  and  she 
hers  to  pray,  the  better  for  an  interchange  of  smiles. 

The  large,  low  room,  dim  with  the  half  light  of  a 
partly  subterranean  chamber  where  early  service  was 
held,  was  filled  with  worshipers.  Men,  and  above  all, 
women,  pray  well  when  their  loved  ones  stand  every 
hour  in  jeopardy  of  battle,  murder,  and  sudden  death. 
Gray  coats  were  again  a  feature  of  the  scene.  They 
bore  a  fair  proportion  to  the  homespun  dresses  of  the 
women,  and  stentorian  voices  swelled  the  chorus  of  full- 
hearted  aniens.  Chief  among  the  gray  coats,  with  a 
fine,  soldierly  gray  head  to  match,  and  a  distinguished 
presence  ennobled  by  simplicity  of  bearing,  was  the  Gen- 
eral of  the  armies.  His  erect,  imperturbable  figure  and 
serene  countenance  gave  courage  to  many  a  drooping 
spirit. 

Mrs.  Key,  her  widow's  veil  thrown  from  off  her  face 
and  wound  about  her  ears  and  chin,  sat  far  back  in  the 
chapel,  but  not  so  far  that  there  was  not  some  one  be- 
hind her.     When  the  Venite  began,  she  was  startled  by 


72  JACK  HORNER. 

the  sound  over  her  shoulder  of  a  bass  voice,  rich,  strong, 
and  true. 

"  O  come,  let  us  sing  unto  the  Lord ; 
Let  us  heartily  rejoice  in  the  strength  of  our  salvation," 

rolled  forth  in  tones  woi'thy  the  anthem.  She  loos- 
ened her  veil  in  order  to  free  her  ears.  It  seemed  a 
shame  to  muffle  the  sound  of  praise  like  that  with 
crape.  The  voice  was  not  only  militant  but  triumphant, 
like  a  Te  Deum  after  victory.  It  stirred  Madelaine's 
soul.  Everything  during  the  war  seemed  to  have  pecu- 
liar significance  for  the  time.  The  old  Venite,  like 
all  immortal  utterances,  was  fresh  and  apposite  to-day 
as  in  the  beginning  when  David  strung  his  harp  and 
praised  God  for  deliverance  from  his  enemies.  The 
singer  behind  Madelaine  seemed  to  realize  the  strong 
salvation  of  which  he  sang.  Salvation  to  every  Con- 
federate heart  included  victory  over  temporal  as  well 
as  spiritual  enemies,  with  a  pressing  sense  of  the 
former.  Mrs.  Key  felt  encouraged  and  refreshed  as 
patriot  and  Christian. 

When  service  was  over,  the  General  of  the  armies 
rose  from  his  knees  with  military  promptness,  and  went 
home  to  his  frugal  morning  meal  without  tarrying  to 
talk.  The  congregation,  knowing  his  habit,  made  an 
aisle  through  which  he  passed,  returning  with  grave 
courtesy  the  salutations  from  lip  and  eye  that  met  him 
on  every  side.  Madelaine's  first  look  had  been  towards 
him,  and  when  she  turned  to  see  the  owner  of  the  fine 
voice  he  had  disappeared. 

She  was  nearing  home  when  some  one  at  her  shoulder 
bade  her  a  cheerful  "  Good-morning." 


A   STUDY  IN   GRAY.  73 

Turning,  she  saw  Dallas,  who  had  not  been  so  for- 
tunate as  the  General  in  getting  away  from  the  church 
door  without  conversation.  He  was  looking  bright 
and  smiling,  notwithstanding  the  conflicting  emotions 
of  the  night  before. 

Feelings  in  times  of  high  pressure,  like  flowers  forced 
in  artificial  temperature,  are  of  quick  birth,  but  they 
yield  readily  to  new  impressions.  A  soldier's  dreamless 
sleep  had  adjusted  Dallas's  mind  to  the  fact  that  his 
new  acquaintance  was  a  widow. 

"  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Key,  but  you  see  I  know  you,  this 
time." 

"  That  was  very  clever  of  you,  if  you  recognized  the 
back  of  my  bonnet,"  with  an  amused  smile  at  his  face 
glowing  with  haste  in  overtaking  her. 

"  The  back  of  your  bonnet,  indeed !  " 

Had  he  not  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  nice  profile  and 
pretty  pink  ear  in  church  ?  Had  he  not  since  been 
watching  her  floating  black  draperies  as  one  watches 
the  flight  of  a  bird  ?  "  No,  but  you  forgot  last  night  to 
tell  me  where  you  lived,  and  if  you  will  allow  me  I 
shall  walk  home  with  you  and  find  out  for  myself." 

Madelaine  was  a  little  annoyed.  She  liked  a  man 
very  well  "  in  his  place,"  and  this  one  interested  her 
more  than  most,  but  his  place  Avas  not  beside  a  widow 
who  is  a  widow  indeed,  on  her  way  home  from  prayers 
early  in  the  morning.  It  is  a  woman's  place,  however, 
to  yield  pleasantly  to  the  inevitable,  so  she  accepted 
the  proffered  escort  with  a  smile,  asking, — 

"  Did  you  stay  late  at  the  reception  last  night  ?  " 

"  No,  it  got  to  be  dull  after  you  left.  That  is,  I 
got  tired.     A  party  tires  me  more  than  ditching." 


74  JACK  HORNER. 

"H 

then  ?  " 

"  Don't  put  it  down  to  my  credit,  please.  Nothing 
like  the  army  for  knocking  late  rising  out  of  a  fellow. 
I  can't  sleep  after  cock-crow.  This  morning,  while  I 
was  dressing,  I  heard  my  sister  and  her  children  mov- 
ing about  at  what  was  an  unearthly  hour  for  them, 
and  presently  a  mob  of  boys  and  girls  hurled  them- 
selves at  my  door,  calling  at  the  top  of  their  voices, 
'  Uncle  Hugh !  Uncle  Hugh  !  mamma  says  this  is 
Ash  Wednesday,  and  you  must  come  down  and  go  to 
church.'     I  could  n't  resist  all  that  moral  suasion." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  want  to." 

"  I  never  shall  again.     Virtue  has  its  rewards." 

"  Speaking  of  rewards,"  said  Madelaine,  ignoring 
the  comjiliment,  ''  I  was  rewarded  by  a  seat  near  a 
fine  voice.  Somebody  chanted  gloriously."  Suddenly 
it  came  to  her  that  Dallas  was  the  somebody.  "  Oh, 
was  it  you  ?  "  she  asked,  coloring. 

Dallas  laughed- 

"  It  is  clear  you  do  not  find  early  rising  a  penance 
as  most  of  us  do,"  said  Madelaine. 

"  Penance  ?  This  looks  like  indulgence,"  adjusting 
his  army  swagger  to  her  fine  feminine  step. 

After  a  pause,  he  renewed  the  topic  of  the  previous 
evening. 

''  You  will  permit  me  to  come  some  day  and  bring 
your  handkerchief  ?  " 

'"  You  have  anticipated  me.  I  was  about  to  ask  you 
to  come.  We  are  at  home  on  Thursdays,  and  my  aunt. 
Miss  Pritchard,  is  never  so  happy  as  when  making  a 
soldier  welcome." 


A   STUDY  IN  GRAY.  75 

"  Miss  Pritchard  ?  Surely  I  know  that  name.  Why, 
she  is  the  lady  our  sick  and  wounded  fellows  call  the 
angel  of  the  hospitals  !  " 

"  Yes,  we  have  heard  of  that.  My  aunt  thinks  it  is 
because  she  preaches  good  little  sermons  to  them  about 
their  souls,  but  I  believe  it  is  because  she  takes  them 
good  dinners,  and  warm  flannels  for  their  bodies." 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  both  right.  Man  is  a  mixed 
quantity." 

"  So  he  is,  very  mixed.  I  shall  tell  my  aunt  what 
you  say,  and  reconcile  our  opinions  on  that  basis." 

"  I  am  in  luck,  having  a  prospect  of  making  Miss 
Pritchard's  acquaintance.  Decidedly,  Ash  Wednesday 
is  a  feast  day  for  me,"  Dallas  was  saying  with  a 
broad  smile,  when  his  companion  stopped  at  her  aunts 
door. 

Madelaine,  looking  up  to  tell  him  that  here  was  her 
home,  saAv  the  smile  fade  from  his  lips.  He  became 
suddenly  grave. 

"  Pardon  me,  Mrs,  Key,"  he  said,  in  a  changed 
tone,  "  but  do  you  live  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  at  present,  I  am  staying  here  with  my  uncle 
and  aunt.  Are  you  acquainted  with  the  place  ?  "  a 
little  curiously. 

"No,  oh,  no,  except  the  outside.  1  have  passed  it 
very  often  of  course,  but  I  never  knew  who  lived  here 
until  now.     Do  you  —     Are  you  "  — 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Madelaine,  puzzled. 

"  Excuse  me,  but  the  world  is  a  very  small  place, 
after  all." 

"  Yes,"  said  Madelaine  again. 


IX. 

IN   THE    BULRUSHES. 

The  next  day  being  Thursday,  Dallas  availed  of 
Mrs.  Key's  invitation. 

He  called  at  Miss  Pritchard's  early  in  the  forenoon 
with  the  hope  of  preceding  other  visitors.  He  had 
reasons  for  wishing  to  visit  the  house.  Among  others, 
he  wanted  to  return  the  handkerchief,  he  had  a  desire 
to  make  Miss  Pritchard's  acquaintance,  and  he  ac- 
knowledged to  himself  that  he  had  a  fancy  for  seeing 
Mrs.  Key  again.  He  was  disappointed  of  his  hope  of 
being  first  in  the  field.  Two  elderly  maiden  ladies, 
neighbors  of  Miss  Pritchard's,  and  Miss  Disney  were 
in  the  parlor  Avhen  he  entered. 

The  room,  in  smiling  contrast  to  the  raw,  cold  day, 
was  ruddy  with  an  open  fire.  A  delicate  appetizing 
odor  from  a  steaming  bowl  in  the  adjoining  room 
added  another  sense  of  comfort.  Miss  Pritchard  and 
her  spinster  friends,  twin  sisters  by  the  name  of  Mat- 
chet,  gray,  gaunt,  and  exactly  alike  in  appearance  and 
dress,  sat  by  the  fire,  straight  and  animated  as  the  knit- 
ting needles  they  clicked  in  unison,  work  for  soldiers 
being  en  regie  everywhere  except  in  church.  Made- 
laine  in  her  best  black  gown  was  helping  Bo  to  a  plate 
of  genuine  New  Orleans  gumbo,  one  of  the  favorite 
delicacies  of  the  war  period. 


IN  THE  BULRUSHES.  11 

"  Major  Dallas !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Patty,  sunning 
all  over,  while  the  twins  fluttered  sympathetic  delight, 
as  Madelaine  presented  her  new  acquaintance.  A 
Confederate  officer,  arm  in  sling,  could  at  any  time 
walk  into  their  affections.  "  Major  Dallas,  how  good 
of  you  to  come." 

"  Rather,  how  good  of  you  to  let  me  come,"  he  an- 
swered warmly.     '•  If  you  knew  "  — 

"  I  do  know  all  about  it,"  interrupted  Miss  Patty, 
shy  of  being  comjjlimented. 

Dallas  stroked  his  mustache.     What  did  she  know  ? 

"  My  niece,  Mrs.  Key,"  continued  the  old  lady, 
"  has  told  me  that  some  of  our  boys  have  mentioned 
me  kindly  to  you." 

Dallas  smiled  and  acquiesced. 

"  Is  there  any  war  news,  major  ?  "  asked  the  twins 
in  a  breath. 

It  was  the  inevitable  question. 

"  None  to-day.  Mars  Bob  still  waiting  for  Burn- 
side  to  make  another  attack,"  replied  the  major,  who 
kept  an  answer  cut  and  dried  for  the  people  who 
wanted  to  hear  of  a  brilliant  victory  every  minute  in 
the  day. 

"  Come,  Miss  Patty  does  n't  permit  war  talk  at  her 
parties,"  said  Bo.  "  They  are  for  the  promotion  of 
pleasantness  and  peace." 

"  Thei'e  's  alliteration  for  you,  and  the  best  news  I 
have  heard  yet.  But  what  do  you  find  to  talk  about  ?  " 
asked  Dallas. 

"  The  last  novel,  of  course,"  said  Madelaine,  wheel- 
ing a  little  table  before  him,  and  presenting  a  plate  of 
gumbo  which  tickled  his  nose  as  well  as  his  palate. 


78  JACK  HORNER. 

''The  last  novel?  The  last  one  published  before 
the  blockade,  I  suppose.  How  long  will  it  make  food 
for  conversation  ?  "  said  Dallas,  laughing. 

"  Don't  be  satirical,"  interposed  Bo.  "  Books  do 
sometimes  run  the  blockade,  and  the  Confederacy  has 
actually  given  birth  to  one  novel.  True,  it  is  of  Ger- 
man parentage,  translated  by  a  French  woman.  Have 
you  read  Joseph  II.,  the  Story  of  an  Emperor,  printed 
on  wall  paper  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  found  it  readable  trash.  Our  fellows 
got  hold  of  a  copy  this  winter  and  read  it  to  tatters." 

"  There  never  was  a  time  when  literature  was  so  ap- 
preciated," continued  Bo.  "  Books  nowadays  are  few 
and  far  between,  and  really  angels'  visits.  Nobody 
takes  the  pains  to  smuggle  any  but  good  ones.  Think 
of  the  disgrace  of  being  captured  with  a  bad  one  or  a 
poor  one,  which  is  worse.  Better  be  caught  with  qui- 
nine, the  last  thing  our  enemies  have  made  contraband 
of  war,"  she  added,  woman-like,  the  first  to  break  the 
rule  she  invoked. 

"•  Yes,"  said  Miss  Pattj^,  with  a  truculent  shake  of 
her  curls,  "bad  books  corrupt  morals,  and  quinine 
cures  fevers ;  of  course  the  Yankees  would  prefer  the 
bad  books  to  get  through." 

''  Ah  !  "  cried  Madelaine,  in  a  tone  of  deep  disgust, 
her  face  assuming  its  sternest  aspect,  which  was  very 
stern  indeed.  Like  most  strong,  loving  natures,  she 
had  a  corresponding  capacity  for  dislike,  and  would 
have  satisfied  Dr.  Johnson's  ideal  hater.  Yankees  and 
their  doings  roused  the  dormant  faculty  as  nothing  else 
could. 

"  I  apologize,  Bo,"  said  Miss  Patty.     "  But  you  be- 


IN  THE  BULRUSHES.  79 

gan  it,  and  quinine  is  one  of  my  sore  points.  If  you 
had  seen  as  many  soldiers  die  for  want  of  it "  — 

"  Ah  !  "  murmured  Madelaine  again. 

Dallas  smiled  gravely. 

"  I  wondered  how  you  would  keep  the  war  out  of 
conversation.     It  seems  omnipresent." 

"  Yes,  omnipresent  as  weather,  the  great  topic  be- 
fore the  fall  of  Sumter,  or  before  the  fall  of  Adam,  for 
that  matter.  With  no  neighbors  and  the  known  world 
at  peace,  I  can't  imagine  what  else  he  and  Eve  had  to 
talk  about." 

"  By  the  bye,"  said  Dallas,  "  do  you  know  what  is 
Mars  Bob  Lee's  strongest  epithet  for  the  enemy  ?  " 

"No;  what?  "  in  chorus. 

"  Those  people." 

Everybody  laughed,  and  in  spite  of  prohibition  fell 
into  an  animated  discussion  of  "  those  people." 

After  awhile,  one  of  the  Miss  Matchets  changed  the 
subject  by  remarking,  "  Before  you  came  in,  major, 
we  were  asking  to  see  Miss  Pritchavd's  baby,  —  her 
adopted  baby,  you  know,"  correcting  herself,  with  a 
little  old-maidenly  blush. 

'•  Yes,  her  adopted  baby,"  said  the  other,  always  on 
the  same  track  with  her  sister,  but  a  little  behind  like 
the  slower  of  a  span.  One  did  the  work,  the  other 
kept  up  appearances. 

"  Thank  you.  Miss  Matchet,  for  coming  to  the  res- 
cue," said  Miss  Patty.  "  Jack  Horner  is  more  inter- 
esting than  either  war  or  weather." 

Madelaine,  looking  at  Dallas,  admiring  his  deft  man- 
agement of  cup  and  plate  with  one  hand,  caught  the 
light  in  his  eye.  He  leaned  forward  and  seemed  in- 
terested in  this  unlikely  topic. 


80  JACK  HORXER. 

"Jack  Horner  ?  "  he  repeated,  "  has  he  come  in  the 
flesh  ?     I  thought  he  was  a  mythical  character." 

"  Yes,  come,  and  in  the  nick  of  time,"  said  Miss 
Patty. 

"■  Okl  Nick  of  time,  Mr.  Lariy  thinks,"  interjiolated 
Bo. 

Dallas  laughed.  Miss  Disney's  tongue  and  eyes 
were  like  sword  flashes. 

"  He  stepped  out  of  Mother  Goose  the  night  before 
Christmas,"  continued  Miss  Patty,  ignoring  the  inter- 
ruption. 

"  The  night  before  Christmas  ?  "  echoed  Dallas, 
stroking  his  mustache.  "  It  was  a  good  time  to  be 
born." 

"Jack  was  not  born  on  that  night,"  said  Made- 
laine. 

Dallas  stirred  the  spoon  in  his  cup. 

"  I  understood  Miss  Pritchard  to  say  "  — 

"  Come,"  said  Miss  Patty,  "  it  is  n't  fair  to  talk  in 
riddles.  Major  Dallas,  Jack  Horner  is  the  name  of  a 
child  who  was  left  on  our  doorstep  last  Christmas  Eve, 
and  has  been  here  ever  since.  I  —  well,  I  suppose  I 
may  say  I  have  adopted  him,  and  my  friends  who  used 
to  ask  after  my  cats  have  transferred  their  interest  to 
the  boy.  But  young  men,  I  know,  do  not  as  a  rule 
care  for  babies,  and  we  will  have  Jack  in  another  time 
to  make  Miss  Matchet's  acquaintance." 

"  By  no  means  !  This  is  the  very  best  time  !  "  ex- 
claimed Dallas,  who  had  been  looking  gravely  in  Miss 
Patty's  face,  as  with  some  embarrassment  she  confessed 
to  having,  at  her  age,  adopted  a  baby.  "  Of  all  cre- 
ated things,  I  hold  a  baby  to  be  the  most  interesting  — 
theoretically." 


72V  THE  BULRUSHES.  81 

Everybody  laughed. 

"  How  about  practically  ?  "  asked  Miss  Patty. 

"  Practically,  I  know  very  little  about  them." 

"  Where  does  theory  come  in  ?  "  queried  Bo. 

"  Just  think  of  the  immense  possibilities  packed 
away  in  so  small  a  compass  !  "  said  Dallas,  laughing  in 
his  turn.  "  Out  of  that  animated  dot  of  humanity  may 
walk  some  day  a  Plato,  a  Caesar,  a  —  a  "  — 

"  Stonewall  Jackson,"  suggested  Madelaine. 

"  Thank  you,  yes,"  carrying  up  his  hand  in  salute. 

"  Then  we  may  bring  the  boy  in  for  a  few  minutes," 
said  Miss  Patty,  ringing  the  bell. 

"  Yes,  for  goodness'  sake  let  us  have  the  possible 
Plato  in,"  said  Bo.  "  I  have  never  thought  of  him  in 
that  light  before." 

"  Yes,  bring  him  in  before  any  more  company 
comes,"  cried  the  sisters  together,  folding  up  their 
knitting  and  stowing  it  away  in  antiquated  twin  muffs. 

Jack,  nearly  two  months  older  than  when  left  on  the 
doorstep,  was  brought  and  placed  on  the  threshold  of 
the  great  double  door  between  the  two  parlors. 

He  had  learned  to  steady  his  legs  since  we  last  saw 
him.  Standing  firmly  on  his  feet,  a  finger  in  his  mouth, 
he  turned  his  large  brown  eyes  fearlessly  round  on  the 
company. 

His  nurse,  who  had  lost  none  of  her  timidity,  kept 
half  hid  behind  one  of  the  folding-doors,  blushing  as 
usual  and  staring  at  the  carpet. 

Jack's  appearance  created  a  sensation.  Breathless 
"  Oh  —  oil's  !  "  escaped  the  twins.  Boadicea,  vnih.  a 
glance  at  the  mirror,  owned  herself  eclipsed. 

"  You  angel !  "  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands. 


82  JACK  HORNER. 

The  child,  accustomed  to  feminine  adulation,  received 
these  raptures  calmly.  He  was  coolly  balancing  the 
claims  of  his  rival  admirers. 

Miss  Patty  looked  anxiously  expectant.  Madelaine's 
face  warmed  and  softened.  Dallas,  clean  forgotten, 
looked  on  with  profound  interest.  He  knew  what,  in 
Jack's  place,  he  would  do.  What  would  Jack  do  ?  If 
a  masculine  soul  dwelt  in  the  little  body  ;  if  out  of  that 
animated  dot  of  humanity  was  to  come  some  day  a 
Caesar,  a  Jackson,  or  even  a  Plato,  he  would  feel  im- 
pelled by  the  mother-look  which  transformed  the  nice- 
looking  face  into  woman's  tenderest  beauty. 

The  major  saw  and  understood,  as  with  a  flash,  how 
much  more  acute  than  himself  had  been  the  little 
Frenchman.  The  latter  at  a  glance  had  divined  some- 
thing of  her  history. 

Jack  did  not  hesitate  long. 

He  bestowed  half  a  glance  on  the  purring  twins,  who 
held  out  their  muffs  as  decoy  kittens  and  wooed  him  to 
come  and  rub  pdor  pussy's  back  ;  Boadicea's  brilliant 
prettiness  caught  his  attention  for  a  moment ;  Miss 
Patty's  wistful  eyes  touched  his  heart  a  little,  and  he 
rewarded  her  with  a  smile  ;  but  he  walked  straight 
to  Madelaine  and  laid  his  head  on  her  knees. 

An  electric  thrill  passed  through  Dallas  ;  a  touch  of 
nature  makes  the  world  kin.  The  man  felt  overmaster- 
ing kinship  with  the  boy.  With  a  long-drawn,  almost 
audible  sigh,  he  recognized  that  Jack  had  a  masculine 
soul. 

Madelaine,  unconscious  of  what  was  going  on  in  the 
major's  breast,  took  the  boy  in  her  arms.  On  her  fair, 
firmly-rounded  chin  was   a  tiny  birthmark,  dark  and 


IN  THE  BULRUSHES.  83 

tantalizing,  like  a  fly  in  cream.  This,  with  a  dimple  in 
her  cheek,  which  came  and  went  with  her  smile,  were 
delightful  mysteries  Jack  was  never  tired  of  investigat- 
ing. He  touched  them  with  his  rosy  fingers  now. 
Finding  that  they  did  not  fly  away,  as  he  half  feared, 
he  put  up  his  mouth  and  kissed  them. 

Dallas,  vigorously  stroking  his  mustache,  looked  on, 
and  reversed  his  decision  that  Jack  could  ever  hecome 
a  Plato.  At  the  conclusion  of  this  little  drama,  enacted 
in  about  thirty  seconds,  Miss  Patty  remembered  to  in- 
troduce her  new  friend. 

"  Major  Dallas,  I  beg  pardon.  Allow  me  to  present 
you  to  little  Jack  Horner,  future  President  of  the  Con- 
federate States." 

''  Delighted  to  make  his  Excellency's  acquaintance,'* 
said  Dallas,  his  jocular  words  accompanied  with  ear- 
nest contemplation  of  the  future  president. 

His  deep  voice,  breaking  for  the  first  time  on  the 
staccato  of  feminine  admiration,  attracted  Jack's  smil- 
ing notice.  But  at  that  moment  a  little  crash  of  crock- 
ery in  the  back  parlor,  and  an  exclamation  from  the 
nurse,  drew  all  eyes  to  Mrs.  Manning.  By  a  sudden 
movement  she  had  overturned  a  small  table,  on  which 
were  a  cup  and  saucer.  Cup  and  saucer  were  in  atoms, 
and  she  was  hastily  picking  up  the  pieces.  She  had 
cut  her  finger  with  a  sharp  fragment  of  the  delicate 
china.  A  few  drops  of  blood  were  on  her  hand,  while 
all  the  blood  seemed  to  have  left  her  face.  She  looked 
so  white  and  scared  that  Miss  Patty  said,  — 

"  Never  mind.  It  was  n't  your  fault.  The  cup 
ought  not  to  have  been  left  there,  and  these  little  Japan 
tables  are  so  easily  upset." 


84  JACK  HORNER. 

Dallas's  attention  being  attracted  to  the  accident,  he 
noticed  the  nurse  for  the  first  time.    His  face  changed. 

Luckily  for  the  woman's  confusion,  the  door-bell  at 
that  moment  announced  other  visitors.  Speedily  re- 
moving the  traces  of  her  awkwardness,  she  took  Jack 
from  Mrs.  Key,  and  disappeared. 

"  Do  you  know  Mrs.  Manning  ?  "  asked  Bo,  left  to 
entertain  Dallas,  while  Miss  Patty  and  Madelaine  went 
forward  to  receive  the  new-comer. 

Dallas  looked  toward  the  door.  "  The  lady  coming 
in  ?  No,  I  've  never  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her 
before." 

"  I  don't  mean  the  lady  coming  in,  but  the  nurse  go- 
ing out." 

Dallas  arched  his  eyebrows.  *'  The  nurse  ?  No,  I 
don't  know  her.     Is  her  name  Manning?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  fancied  you  looked  as  if  you  had  seen 
her  before." 

"  You  fancied  correctly.  It  seemed  to  me  I  had 
seen  her  before." 

"  To  think  of  her  breaking  that  beautiful  Dresden 
cup !  " 

Dallas  felt  that  he  had  not  chosen  the  best  day  for 
returning  the  handkerchief.  Its  sad  association  with 
poor  Fairfax  made  him  wish  to  give  it  back  at  a  more 
propitious  moment  than  he  was  likely  to  get  on  this 
occasion. 

He  had  hoped  to  find  Madelaine  and  her  aunt  alone, 
at  this  early  hour.  But  Miss  Pritchard's  at-home  days 
were  very  popular.  Intimates,  and  neighbors  like  the 
Matchets,  began  to  come  before  noon,  and  later  on  her 
rooms  were  apt  to  be  crowded  with  all  sorts  of  people 


IN  THE  BULRUSHES.  85 

who  were  glad  to  meet  each  other  under  her  roof. 
There,  fashionable  people  forgot  to  be  condescending, 
and  the  unfashionable  to  be  sensitive. 

Dallas  found  his  opportunity  only  as  he  was  leaving 
the  house.  Mrs.  Key  had  gone  into  the  hall  to  speak 
to  a  servant  about  replenishing  the  ever-emptying  bowl, 
and  under  the  shadow  of  the  staircase  he  had  a  word 
with  her  alone. 

Taking  the  handkerchief  from  his  bosom,  he  said,  as 
lightly  as  was  compatible  with  it  being  much  less  than 
he  felt,  "  Mrs.  Key,  I  hope  this  little  token  will  be  a 
bond  of  friendship  between  us." 

Madelaine's  eyes,  which  had  a  darker  or  softer  light 
for  every  shade  of  feeling,  were  raised  to  his.  They 
were  dark  and  tender,  now,  remembering  Fairfax. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  sighed  softly  ;  "  I  promise  that." 

The  glance  and  sigh  kindled  a  sudden  and  unfamil- 
iar warmth  about  the  young  soldier's  heart,  which  sent 
a  glowing  message  to  his  cheek. 

Mrs.  Key's  eyes  fell. 

Here  was  another  person  turning  red  at  her. 

"  Good-morning,"  stammered  Dallas,  as  he  touched 
her  hand,  which  would  have  matched  that  of  Sir  Roger 
de  Coverley's  widow. 

"  Good-morning,"  she  returned  calmly.  "  You  will 
come  and  see  us  again,  I  hope." 

The  reception  over,  Miss  Patty  retired  to  a  sofa  to 
take  a  nap.  Madelaine  and  Bo  drew  their  chairs  close 
to  the  fire  to  review  the  incidents  of  the  day.  At 
least,  that  was  their  custom,  but  on  this  occasion  their 
thoughts  seemed  to  have  concentrated  on  one  point  or 
more,  or,  properly  speaking,  one  person. 


86  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Bo  impressively. 

"Well?"  echoed  Madelaine  quietly,  shading  her 
eyes  from  the  glowing  embers. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  "  asked  Bo,  seeing  her 
companion  failed  to  enlarge  on  the  subject  occupying 
her  thoughts. 

"  It  ?  "  echoed  Madelaine  again,  not  grasping  Bo's 
meaning. 

"  Well,  him,  if  you  like  that  better.  I  mean  Major 
Dallas." 

"  Major  Dallas,"  repeated  INIadelaine,  annoyed  to 
feel  her  own  face  turning  red  at  the  recollection  of  his 
uncalled-for  blush.     ''  I  think  him  a  very  nice  person." 

"  Is  it  possible,  Madelaine,  you  did  not  notice  some- 
thing remarkable  in  his  behavior  ?  " 

This  was  getting  personal.  What  could  Boadicea 
mean  ?  She  had  not  seen  that  foolish  reddening  of  his 
face,  which,  after  all,  was  more  provoking  than  re- 
markable. 

"  No,"  she  answered  meditatively  ;  ''  I  think  his 
behavior  very  like  that  of  most  men." 

"  Do  most  men  change  color  "  —  Madelaine  started 
—  "  at  sight  of  Mrs.  Manning  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Manning  !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  And  does  Mrs.  Manning  smash  Dresden  china 
cups  at  sight  of  most  men  ?  "  continued  Bo. 

Madelaine  sat  bolt  upright  in  her  chair. 

"  Boadicea,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked,  so  vehe- 
mently that  Miss  Patty  stirred  in  her  sleep. 

"  Sh  I  "  whispered  Bo,  with  a  finger  on  her  lips. 
"  I  believe,"  when  all  was  quiet  on  the  sofa,  "  he 
knows  something  about  Jack  Horner  I  " 


m  THE  BULRUSHES.  87 

"  You  don't  say  so !  "  gasped  Madelaine,  to  whom 
the  suggestion  came  like  a  thunder-clap.  "  What  hap- 
pened ?     I  saw  nothing  of  all  this." 

"  No,  you  were  too  much  occupied  with  the  brat. 
You  have  eyes  for  nobody  else  when  he  is  in  the 
room." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right.  But  tell  me.  Do  you 
think  —     You  don't  think  "  — 

"  I  think,"  said  Bo,  drawing  her  chair  closer,  speak- 
ing with  the  low-voiced,  eager  delight  of  a  child  telling  a 
ghost  story,  —  "I  think,  yes,  I  am  siire,  that  he  and 
Mrs.  Manning  have  met  before,  and  I  believe  they 
both  know  something  about  Jack.  I  felt  it  in  the  air 
like  rain,  or  a  storm,  or  something." 

"  But  we  have  done  that  before,"  said  Madelaine. 

"  Did  you  notice  how  interested  he  seemed  in 
Jack  ?  " 

"  Everybody  is  that.  But,  Bo,  you  don't  mean  you 
think  it  likely  that  —  that  "  —  floundered  Madelaine, 
trying  to  convey  her  meaning  without  expressing  it 
—  "  that  Major  Dallas  is  kin  to  the  boy  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Bo,  serenely  unconscious  of  any  difl&- 
culty.  "I  know  the  Dallas  family.  There  are  no 
children  in  it  except  his  sister's,  and  she  is  a  most  de- 
voted mother.  Nobody  would  dare  to  leave  one  of  her 
babies  on  a  doorstep,  although  there  are  troops  of 
them,  and  not  much  money." 

"  And  Major  Dallas  himself  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  that  is  impossible.  Major  Dallas  has 
never  been  married." 

Madelaine  stirred  the  fire. 

"I   believe   Mrs.    Manning   is    the  mother   of  the 


88  JACK  HORNER. 

baby,"  continued  Bo.  jumping  at  a  conclusion  witb  the 
agility  that  characterized  all  her  mental  operations. 
*'  I  have  been  thinking  it  out  ever  since  Mrs.  Manning 
started  as  if  she  had  been  shot,  at  the  sound  of  Major 
Dallas's  voice.     It  is  a  case  of  Moses  in  the  bulrushes." 

Bo  paused  for  breath,  and  Madelaine  stared,  not  see- 
ing the  connection. 

"You  know  when  little  Moses  —  to  think  of  his 
ever  being  little  —  was  put  among  the  flags,  his  sister 
stood  by  to  see  what  would  happen,  and  when  Pha- 
raoh's daughter  wanted  a  nurse  for  the  baby,  the  sister 
went  and  brought  Moses's  "  — struggling  with  the  pos- 
sessive case —  "  mother." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  Miss  Patty  is  Pliaraoh's  daugh- 
ter who  adopted  the  baby  ;  Jack  is  little  Moses  ;  and 
Mrs.  Manning  is  Mrs.  Levi,  or  whatever  the  child's 
mother  was  called." 

"  And  what  part  do  you  assign  Major  Dallas  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  is  the  sister,  I  dare  say,  who  went  off  and 
brought  the  mother.  You  know  no  parallel  walks  on 
four  legs." 

"  The  sister,"  mused  Madelaine,  studying  the  dis- 
solving views  in  the  fire.  "  Well,  I  hope  if  Major  Dal- 
las had  anything  to  do  with  the  matter  it  was  as  a 
sister.  But  you  are  wrong,  Bo ;  the  child  cannot  be 
Mrs.  Manning's,  for  Aunt  Patty  says  she  had  just  lost 
one  about  Jack's  age  when  he  was  brought  here." 

"  Maybe  she  did  n't  lose  it.  Maybe  Jack  is  the 
child,"  said  Bo.  who  did  not  like  giving  up  the  pretty 
story  into  which  she  had  so  ingeniously  fitted  the 
parts. 


IN  THE  BULRUSHES.  89 

"  Nonsense  !     What  object  could  she  have  ?  " 

"What  object?"  exclaimed  Bo.  "Anybody  to 
look  at  the  pampered  brat  could  see  what  object." 

"  I  have  always  found  Mrs.  Manning  rather  a  mys- 
terious person,"  admitted  Madelaine,  after  a  pause. 
"  But  I  don't  see  what  Major  Dallas  can  have  to  do 
with  it." 

"  Neither  do  I ;  but  that  is  what  we  shall  have  to 
find  out  —  the  unknown  quantity." 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  off  on  another  wild-goose 
chase,"  sighed  Madelaine,  who  began  to  regret  having 
enlisted  such  vigilance  as  Bo's  in  the  pursuit. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  Wild  geese  are  as  good 
game  as  most  things.  It  is  the  pursuit,  after  all,  that 
interesting." 

When  Bo  was  gone,  Madelaine  remembered  with  a 
start  that  the  letter  on  Jack's  clothing  was  D,  and  con- 
gratulated herself  that  she  had  never  informed  Bo  of 
the  fact. 


X. 

MOONSHINrE. 

Environment,  which  to-day  is  supposed  to  play  so 
large  a  part  in  determining  man's  character  and  fate, 
added  whatever  influence  it  possesses  to  the  impres- 
sion Mrs.  Key  made  on  Dallas.  He  had  seen  her  four 
times,  and  each  time  the  environment  had  been  such  as 
to  throw  into  high  relief  her  peculiar  attractiveness, 
and  the  circumstances  such  as  he  would  have  long  re- 
membered without  the  charm  which  made  them  in- 
delible. He  pretty  soon  discovered  that  something  had 
happened  to  him,  — something  so  unexpected  as  to  fill 
is  him  with  wonder,  yet  so  unmistakable  as  to  leave 
him  no  doubt  in  the  matter.  He  had  fallen  in  love, 
and  with  a  widow !  Perhaps  a  man  always  feels  a 
certain  twinge,  it  may  be  of  jealousy,  it  may  be  of  dis- 
appointment, but  at  any  rate  a  twinge,  when  he  finds 
himself  in  love  with  a  widow.  Dallas  was  no  excep- 
tion to  the  rule.  He  had  his  bad  quarter  of  an  hour 
on  the  subject.  As  in  the  case  of  every  other  man,  it 
was  in  direct  opposition  to  all  his  preconceived  ideas. 
But  love,  although  it  is  nothing  new  to  say,  is  a  con- 
jurer who  transforms  objections  into  incentives,  and 
presto  !  the  twinge  of  jealousy,  or  what  not,  becomes 
only  another  and  stronger  motive  for  devotion.  So  it 
was  with  the  major.     The  bucket  of  cold  water  which 


MOONSHINE.  91 

had  taken  his  breath  away  when  he  learned  that  Made- 
laine  was  madame,  so  far  from  extinguishing  his  ardor, 
had  added  fuel  to  flame. 

Human  blood  at  that  time  was  of  a  splendid  red 
color,  as  a  hundred  fields  could  testify.  It  had  not  yet 
become  the  languid,  lukewarm  tide  which  evolves  the 
pale  emotions  of  a  modern  American  novel. 

There  was  no  possibility  of  Dallas  mistaking  with 
whom  he  was  in  love,  and  he  was  as  deeply  in  as  if 
his  love  had  been  the  growth  of  years,  —  as  much  in 
love  as  Mark  Antony,  Paris,  or  any  lover  in  the  cen- 
turies before  this  cool  nineteenth.  It  was  the  iden- 
tical passion  which  in  all  ages  has  made  a  man  do  all, 
suffer  all,  lose  all,  for  a  woman.  It  is  dying  out,  going 
out  of  fashion,  now.  It  had  lost  none  of  its  heaven- 
born  savor  then.  It  would  have  made  Dallas,  if  need 
be,  "  launch  a  thousand  ships "  as  readily  as  Mai'k 
Antony,  but  being  in  the  other  branch  of  the  service, 
and  the  Confederacy  having  no  navy  to  speak  of,  he 
could  only  testify  in  a  thousand  delicate  ways  his 
entire  devotion.  Mrs.  Key  may  or  may  not  have  per- 
ceived this  state  of  things.  She  did  not  betray  by  her 
manner  whether  she  did  or  not.  The  truth  was,  she 
had  become  interested,  in  a  half  -  credulous  sort  of 
way,  in  Bo's  theory  as  to  his  knowing  something  about 
Jack,  and  was  studying  him  from  that  point  of  view. 
On  one  occasion,  when  she  was  talking  with  him  and 
Miss  Disney,  Jack  being  the  subject  of  discussion  and 
eulogy.  Bo  turned  to  Dallas  with  the  abruptness  with 
which  she  sometimes  startled  people. 

"  Major,  I  am  dying  to  ask  if  you  know  anything 
about  Jack." 


92  JACK  HOnXER. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  hesitate.  I  am  quite 
willing  to  tell  you  what  I  know."  Bo  glanced  up 
eagerly.     "  I  know  he  is  a  very  fine  boy." 

"  Oh,  everybody  knows  that ;  but  do  you  know  how 
he  came  to  be  left  at  Miss  Patty's  door  ?  " 

"  Does  n't  she  say  he  was  left  by  a  young  man  in 
uniform  ?  " 

Bo,  baffled  and  recognizing  her  indiscretion,  turned 
red,  but,  having  begun,  plunged  a  step  further. 

"  I  mean,"  laughing  uneasily,  "  do  you  know  who 
left  him  there  ?  " 

"  Miss  Disney  !  " 

His  tone  and  glance  of  well-bred  surprise  silenced 
her,  a  feat  rarely  performed  by  any  man,  and  she 
remained  quiet  for  a  time. 

"  Boadicea,"  said  Madelaine  severely,  when  they  were 
left  alone,  "  how  could  you  ?  " 

"  Looking  back,  I  don't  see  how  I  could.  At  the 
time,  it  was  irresistible.     But  I  am  not  convinced." 

Madelaine  had  given  her  whole  heart  to  Jack,  not 
only  nor  chiefly  because  of  his  own  attractions,  but  be- 
cause he  revived  the  maternal  feeling  which,  for  a  short 
while,  had  glorified  her  married  life.  She  had  lost  a 
boy  about  a  year  old,  and  her  heart  had  never  ceased 
to  ache  with  the  emptiness  which  took  possession  of  it 
when  the  child  died.  Jack  filled  the  void.  Like  the 
touch  of  spring,  he  unlocked  the  fountains,  quickened 
the  bloom,  and  wakened  the  melodies  in  the  deep  re- 
cesses of  her  nature. 

Now  Dallas  was  not  a  man  to  do  things  by  halves. 
Having  laid  his  heart  at  Mrs.  Key's  feet,  he  desired  to 
lose  no  time  in  telling  her  it  was  there,  to   do  with  as 


MOONSHINE.  93 

she  liked.  I£  there  is  an  occasion  when  a  woman's  in- 
genuity comes  into  fullest  play,  it  is  when  she  wishes 
to  prevent  a  man  doing  this. 

Days,  weeks,  passed.  Their  intercourse  was  fre- 
quent and  on  the  most  friendly  footing,  yet  Dallas 
never  found  an  opportunity  to  say  what  he  wanted. 

Always  when  he  neared  the  point  there  came,  ap- 
parently in  the  most  natural  way,  an  interruption,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  swallow  his  disappointment  and  hope 
for  better  luck  next  time.  He  was  too  single-minded 
to  suspect  any  intention  in  all  this,  and  being  a  man  of 
great  patience  quietly  bided  his  time.  At  last,  an  un- 
expected opportunity  occurred,  of  which  he  was  not  slow 
to  take  advantage.     It  was  an  afternoon  in  March. 

Dallas  and  Mrs.  Key  had  planned  with  Miss  Disney 
and  her  friend  St.  Maur  a  walking  expedition  to  a  coun- 
try place  on  the  outskirts  of  town,  for  the  purpose  of 
getting  a  drink  of  cool  water.  The  want  of  ice  was  one 
of  the  greatest  privations  in  Richmond  during  the  war. 
The  first  mild  weather  and  the  prevalence  of  salt  food 
combined  to  produce  intense  thirst.  The  river  water, 
tepid  and  exceedingly  turbid  from  spring  rains,  was 
not  a  tempting  beverage.  Any  one  possessing  a  well 
of  passably  clear,  cool  water  was  considered  excep- 
tionally fortunate.  A  well  on  the  premises  of  a  de- 
serted homestead  on  the  edge  of  town,  whose  water  had 
the  exaggerated  reputation  of  being  clear  as  crystal  and 
cold  as  ice,  became  a  fashionable  resort.  Here  after- 
noon promenaders,  meeting  round  a  brimming  bucket, 
quaffed,  laughed,  and  flirted  with  as  much  zest  as  the 
pleasure  seekers  who  long  ago  forgathered  in  the  fa- 
mous pump-room  at  the  royal  resort  of  Bath. 


94  JACK  HORNER. 

Bo  and  St.  Maur,  on  this  occasion,  were  late  in  keep- 
ing their  appointment. 

When  the  party  set  out  for  the  rustic  watering- 
place,  everybody  else  was  returning. 

"  Bo,"  said  Madelaine  severely,  "  are  you  ever  on 
time  ?  " 

"  Never,  except  for  dinner,"  said  Bo,  sparkling.  She 
was  looking  her  best,  although  outside  the  Confederacy 
her  costume  would  have  made  the  gods  laugh.  Having 
St.  Maur  with  her  she  had  not  hurried  to  be  punctual. 
His  companionship  had  the  effect  on  her  that  another 
product  of  his  country  has  on  the  average  female  tem- 
perament. She  was  flushed,  animated,  and  brilliant. 
Her  tactics  were  altogether  different  from  Madelaine's. 
She  believed  that  it  was  only  fair  to  give  a  man  a 
chance  to  say  what  he  wanted  to  say.  St.  Maur,  too, 
was  as  effervescent  as  if  he  had  been  of  the  famous 
vintage  of  18 — . 

Bo's  face  shone  at  the  end  of  a  long  vista  of  bonnet, 
and  she  was  habited  in  the  fashionable  wrap  of  the 
war  period,  a  long  black  garment  made  of  any  pro- 
curable material,  which  enveloped  the  figure  from  head 
to  foot,  and  was  called  a  basquine,  corrupted  in  fash- 
ionable colored  circles  into  "  bearskin."  It  was  a 
convenient  wrapping.  Bo  went  so  far  as  to  say  she 
believed  a  special  providence  had  ordained  that  pecu- 
liar style  for  the  times,  because  it  served  to  cover  cords 
of  Confederate  rags. 

"  Yes,"  she  continued,  '•  I  am  always  prompt  at 
meals,  impelled  by  a  double  team,  a  sense  of  duty  and 
a  sense  of  hunger." 

"  I  wish  I  had  asked  you  to  dinner,  then." 


MOONSHINE.  95 

"You  would  be  sorry  now  if  you  had,  if  your  larder 
is  as  low  and  your  appetite  as  good  as  mine." 

"  See,"  said  Madelaine  gravely,  not  mollified  by  this 
persiflage,  "  everybody  is  coming  back." 

"  Well,  dear,"  coaxingly,  "  we  need  not  mind,  so  long 
as  they  leave  the  well  behind." 

Dallas  and  St.  Maur  laughed.  Miss  Disney  was  in- 
extinguishable. 

It  seemed  to  Madelaine  that  she  was  bent  on  being 
perverse,  or  so  occupied  with  her  own  affairs  as  to 
forget  other  people's,  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing. 
When  at  last  they  arrived  at  the  well,  and  while 
Dallas  with  his  one  arm  was  employed  in  lowering  the 
bucket,  Bo  proposed  to  St.  Maur  to  take  a  peep  at  the 
grounds  round  the  house. 

The  place  was  uninhabited,  as  so  many  homesteads 
had  come  to  be.  The  father  and  sons  were  probably 
soldiers,  and  the  rest  of  the  family  scattered.  The  de- 
serted home  presented  that  semblance  of  death  which 
clings  to  everything  where  life  has  been,  and  from  which 
it  has  departed.  The  closed  shutters,  smokeless  chim- 
neys, and  grass-grown  entrance  were  as  suggestive  as  a 
mound  in  a  churchyard.  The  garden  was  a  desolate 
tangle  of  weeds  and  briars,  with  only  here  and  there  a 
blossom  to  tell  of  better  days.  A  clump  of  naked 
trees  behind  the  house  made  a  sombre  background. 
Over  all,  a  young  moon  shed  its  tender  radiance. 

In  the  witchery  of  its  light,  even  the  old  well,  with  its 
rude  shed  and  clumsy  windlass,  was  beautiful  against 
the  amber  sky.  Bo  and  her  companion  wandered  off 
and  did  not  shortly  return.  Their  voices,  now  near, 
now  far,  echoed  through  the  stillness  of  the  deserted 


96  JACK  HORNER. 

garden,  as  they  wandered  through  its  tangled  walks, 
gathering  the  few  early  buds  that  held  their  own 
among  the  weeds. 

Troubled  by  Bo's  desertion,  Madelaine  stood  by  very 
pale  and  grave,  while  Dallas  landed  the  dripping 
bucket  on  the  side  of  the  well.  Her  face  and  the  face 
of  the  young  moon  over  her  shoulder  were  reflected  in 
the  water  shining  darkly  within  the  bucket's  rim. 

The  picture  made  Dallas's  heart  beat  quicker.  He 
would  have  sworn  that  Endymion,  seeing  the  two  faces 
trembling  side  by  side  in  their  oaken  frame,  would 
have  loved  the  woman's  human  beauty  rather  than  the 
cold,  white  loveliness  of  the  moon.  And  yet,  the 
moon  with  all  her  coldness  had  come  down  to  Endy- 
mion ;  what  if —  But  this  was  no  time  to  be  dreaming 
of  myths.  The  occasion  he  had  so  often  sought  and 
missed  had  come  upon  him  suddenly  unawares. 

The  question  should  he  try  his  fate  rushed  over  hira 
like  a  flood,  and  for  a  moment  deprived  him  of  speech. 

His  hand  trembled  as  he  gave  her  a  cup  of  water. 
Hers  trembled  as  she  received  it.  This  little  sign  of 
discomposure  restored  his  courage.  The  blood  flowed 
back  from  his  heart  and  reddened  his  face  with  the 
glow  of  dawn. 

Mrs.  Key  drained  the  cup  slowly.  She  was  gaining 
time.  She  hoped  Bo  and  her  companion  would  come 
back.  All  signs  of  them  had  disappeared.  Even 
their  voices  were  still,  or  sunk  so  low  that  Madelaine's 
straining  ear  caught  no  sound.  At  last,  when  there 
was  no  longer  a  shadow  of  excuse  for  holding  the  cup 
to  her  lips,  she  gave  it  back  to  Dallas,  with  an  attempt 
at  lightness. 


MOONSHINE.  97 

"  The  water  is  really  cold.  Are  n't  you  going  to 
try  some  ?     Are  n't  you  thirsty  ?  " 

"  Thirsty  ?  "  echoed  Dallas.  "  Yes,  and  hungry,  too  ; 
but  this  is  not  what  I  want." 

"You — you  want  the  moon?"  still  trying  to  be 
playful,  as  she  looked  down  on  the  slim  crescent  shim- 
mering in  the  bucket. 

"  Yes,"  smiling  gravely  at  her  fencing  ;  "  I  am  a 
child  crying  for  the  moon,  which  always  eludes  me  — 
so ! "  dipping  the  cup  in  the  liquid  silver  of  the  moon's 
reflection  and  bringing  up  cold,  colorless  water.  Then 
throwing  them  aside,  he  drew  a  step  nearer. 

"  Mrs.  Key  !  " 

Madelaine  knew  the  time  for  fencing  had  passed. 
His  voice  was  too  significant  for  commonplace.  She 
raised  her  eyes  to  look  frankly  in  his  face,  as  friend 
and  comrade.  Her  glance  fell.  It  is  cruel  to  read  a 
man's  soul  without  sympathy,  and  Dallas's  was  laid 
bare  in  eyes  which  expressed  more  eloquently  than 
words  that  he  was  indeed  ahungered  and  athirst,  but 
not  for  comradeship. 

"  Mrs.  Key  !  "  he  cried,  in  the  white  heat  of  long- 
suppressed  passion.  "  You  know  I  love  you ;  why 
won't  you  let  me  tell  you  so  ?  " 

Madelaine's  eyes  filled,  responsive  to  the  tremor  in 
his  voice,  as  she  answered  steadily,  — 

"  Because  I  am  so  happy  in  our  friendship." 

"  Friendship  !  " 

His  great  scorn  of  the  word  made  her  feel  unutter- 
ably trivial. 

"  Is  n't  friendship  a  good  thing  ?  "  she  asked  meekly. 

"  It  is  not  what  I  want." 


98  JACK  HORNER. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  was  all  she  found  to  say,  while  the 
tears  which  had  risen  splashed  her  cheeks,  leaving  her 
face  white  and  glistening  as  the  moon's  mirrored  in 
the  water. 

"  Do  you  mean  you  can  never  love  me  ?  "  he  asked, 
the  wounded  look  in  his  eyes  stabbing  her  like  a  knife. 

'*  I  mean  I  can  never  love  anybody,  and  it  is  very 
desolate  to  lose  my  friends." 

"  Friends  !  and  you  did  not  know  I  loved  you  ?  " 
groaned  Dallas.  "  Is  it  possible  for  a  man  to  give 
himself,  body  and  soul,  to  love  for  a  woman,  and  she 
not  know  it?  " 

"  I  knew,"  stammered  Madelaine  with  compunction, 
"  but  not  until  lately,  and  I  hoped  when  you  saw  it  was 
impossible  for  me  to  love,  you  would  continue  to  be 
my  friend." 

"  And  you  could  not  see  that  that  was  impossible  ?  " 
huskily. 

Her  eyes  fell ;  she  had  been  blind. 

*'  Forgive  me,  Mrs.  Key,"  he  went  on  brokenly  ;  "  I 
should  not  have  pained  you  in  this  way,  but  you  have 
been  so  kind.  It  may  be  my  hopes  have  led  me  astray, 
I"  — 

Madelaine's  cheeks  grew  hot  with  self-accusing 
blushes.  Dallas  was  right.  His  pale,  grieved  face  re- 
vealed, as  in  a  flash,  that  she  had  been  both  blind  and 
selfish.  She  recognized  the  fact  that  in  addition  to 
friendship,  she  had  shown  a  peculiar  interest  in  him, 
which  he  had  naturally  misinterpreted.  Her  fault 
was  all  the  greater  that  he  was  so  single-minded  and 
unsuspicious. 

Madelaine's  family  called    her  quixotic.     It  is  cer- 


MOONSHINE.  99 

tain  she  possessed  the  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  common  to 
high-spirited,  generous  natures.  To  those  who  remem- 
ber the  war,  it  is  needless  to  say  that  among  women 
especially  it  was  a  time  of  tremendous  sacrifices. 
Everything  that  could  be  given  to  the  cause  or  the  sol- 
diers of  the  cause  was  surrendered  gladly.  It  was 
preeminently  a  mark  and  sign  of  the  time.  In  addi- 
tion to  this  impelling  community  of  sentiment,  Made- 
laine  was  now  swayed  by  personal  motives.  Newman 
has  said  that  temptation  is  never  so  subtle  as  when  it 
comes  in  the  form  of  self-sacrifice.  This  temptation 
came  to  Madelaine  in  the  tense,  painful  silence  that 
followed  Dallas's  broken  sentences.  A  flood  of  eager 
questioning  assailed  her  as  she  stood  irresolute,  con- 
fronting his  pale,  haggard  face. 

Was  it  not  laid  upon  her  to  redeem  the  promise 
made  by  her  unthinking  conduct  ?  Had  she  a  right  to 
encourage  hope  in  a  man's  soul,  only  to  disappoint  him 
in  the  end  ?  —  at  a  time,  too,  when  every  true  man  car- 
ried his  life  in  his  hand,  ready  to  give  it  up  at  any  mo- 
ment for  home  and  country  ;  when  each  to-morrow's  sun 
looked  down  on  pale,  dead  faces  that  yesterday  were 
flushed  with  youth  and  hope.  What  better  use  could 
she  make  of  her  blighted  life  than  to  dedicate  it  to  the 
happiness  of  this  good  friend,  this  brave  man  and  true 
patriot  whom  all  men  delighted  to  honor?  All  this 
and  more  passed  through  her  mind  with  the  speed  of 
thought,  untrammeled  by  words.  Her  countenance 
betrayed  hesitation.  Her  look  of  stern  denial  softened 
under  the  influence  of  arguments  with  which  tempta- 
tion in  the  noble  form  of  self-sacrifice  assailed  her. 

Dallas  could  not  read  her  thoughts,  but  he  saw  in 


100  JACK  HORNER. 

her  face  that  his  case  w-as  being  reconsidered.  He 
gathered  courage. 

"  Madelaine,"  he  cried,  his  voice  trembling  as  he 
pronounced  the  name  uttered  hitherto  only  in  dreams, 
—  "  Madelaine,  can  you  never  love  me  ?  " 

She  was  silent  for  awhile,  which  seemed  eternity  to 
Dallas,  who  waited  her  answer,  his  heart  booming  like 
cannon  in  his  ears.     At  last  she  spoke. 

"  Never,"  shaking  her  head  sadly,  *'  as  you  would 
have  me  love  you.  You  know  I  already  love  you  as  a 
dear,  dear  friend,  but  you  will  have  none  of  that.  It 
seems  so  little  to  give,  but  if  you  will  "  — 

"  Little !  "  he  cried,  interrupting  her  halting  sen- 
tence, his  face  irradiated  by  this  small  concession.  "  If 
you  will  let  me,  I  shall  spend  my  life  in  making  it 
much." 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried,  pained  and  frightened  by  his 
look  of  happiness,  which  she  was  sure  she  could  never 
satisfy.  "  I  don't  deserve  that  you  should  love  me  so 
much.     I  have  no  heart  to  give.     You  will  regret  "  — 

"  I  'm  not  afraid,"  he  said,  with  glad  confidence,  for 
the  first  time  probably  in  his  career,  for  it  is  not  brave 
men  who  are  most  ready  to  proclaim  that  they  are  not 
afraid. 

"  Then  this  is  the  most  courageous  act  of  your  life," 
smiling  sadly,  as  he  accepted  her  friendship  in  ex- 
change for  his  great  love. 

"  That  you  give  me  leave  to  try  and  win  your  love 
gives  me  courage  for  life  or  death,"  said  Dallas,  his 
voice  vibrating  with  love  and  happiness  as  they  turned 
to  look  for  Bo  and  St.  Maur,  whose  voices,  coming 
nearer,  were  heard  among  the  brambles  of  the  garden. 


MOONSHINE.  101 

Night  was  falling  when,  Bo  and  her  companion  hav- 
ing partaken  of  the  water,  the  party  turned  their  faces 
toward  town,  whose  lights  like  stars  were  beginning  one 
by  one  to  glimmer  in  the  distance.  There  was  not 
much  conversation  in  that  homeward  walk.  Dallas 
was  too  happy,  and  Madelaine  too  preoccupied  with  the 
turn  in  her  destiny,  for  small  talk.  Bo  was  busy  won- 
dering why  St.  Mauv  had  said  nothing  of  importance 
in  the  garden,  by  moonhght,  too.  St.  Maur  was  too  sus- 
ceptible to  outside  influences  to  feel  like  talking  when 
others  wanted  to  be  silent.  Only  a  scattering  fire  of 
words  came  from  the  party  that  had  started  out  with 
more  or  less  volubility. 

When  they  reached  home,  and  Bo  with  St.  Maur  had 
gone  their  way,  Madelaine  begged  Dallas  not  to  come 
in.  "  I  want  to  think  it  all  over  by  myself,"  she  urged 
gently.  "  Come  to-morrow,"  she  added  quickly,  her 
heart  smiting  her  anew,  seeing  the  disappointment  in 
his  face. 

They  turned  away  from  each  other  with  an  intense 
but  unsjjoken  desire  that  her  love,  which  she  said  was 
little,  might  become  much. 

After  he  had  gone,  Madelaine,  trying  to  get  to  her 
room  unperceived,  felt  her  spirits  rise.  She  ran  up 
stairs  with  a  lighter  heart  and  even  a  glow  of  satisfac- 
tion, as  she  thought  of  him. 

"  I  am  proud  of  him,  at  any  rate,  and  that  is  a  good 
foundation  for  affection,"  she  decided,  as  she  tried  to 
explain  to  herself  why  she  liked  him  better  when  he 
was  away.  Then  she  shivered  as  she  compared  this 
reasonable  feeling  with  the  passion  of  long  ago,  when 
she  loved  not  for  reason,  but  for  love's  sake. 


102  JACK  HORNER. 

On  her  way  to  her  room  she  went  into  the  nursery 
to  look  at  Jack.  She  always  peeped  at  him  asleep  be- 
fore she  went  to  bed,  and  now  she  felt  more  than  ever 
an  irresistible  desire  to  see  him.  He  had  been  the  in- 
nocent cause  of  her  misleading  Dallas  and  changing 
her  own  destiny.  She  did  not  feel  that  she  would  love 
the  child  less  for  this,  but  after  the  inconsequent  fash- 
ion of  women,  a  thousand  times  more.  With  the  woman 
devotee,  the  more  complete  the  sacrifice,  the  more  ar- 
dent the  worship.  She  stole  into  the  nursery  on  tiptoe. 
Nobody  was  there  but  Jack  fast  asleep  in  his  cradle. 
Mrs.  Manning,  having  tucked  him  in  snugly,  had  gone 
to  get  her  tea  in  the  kitchen.  A  fire  in  tlie  grate 
burned  low,  and  the  night  light  was  turned  down.  The 
room's  luxurious  warmth,  the  subdued  light,  and  Jack's 
soft  breathing  fell  like  a  benediction  of  peace  on  her 
troubled  spirit.  She  leaned  over  the  boy,  and  pressed 
a  kiss  on  his  little  pink,  outstretched  palms.  Remem- 
bering her  own  boy,  she  put  an  aching  heartful  of  love 
into  the  passionate  caress.  Jack  stirred  in  his  sleep. 
A  baby's  bright,  evanescent  smile,  as  if  at  a  glimpse  of 
some  celestial  vision,  quivered  on  his  rosy  mouth. 

"  Their  angels  do  always  behold  the  face  of  God," 
she  murnmred,  recalling  these  inscrutable  words  with  a 
thrill  of  joy.  Her  heart  —  and  what  mother's  does  not  ? 
—  always  turned  heavenward  when  she  thought  of  her 
dead.  Then  with  a  quick  revulsion  of  feeling  she  re- 
membered Dallas. 

"  Jack  !  Jack  !  What  have  you  made  me  do  ?  "  she 
cried,  raining  warm  kisses  on  his  baby  mouth. 

And  Jack,  dreaming  of  supper,  stirred  in  his  sleep 
and  smiled  again. 


XL 

'twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip. 

After  Fredericksburg,  winter  and  early  spring  wore 
on  in  daily,  hourly  expectation  of  another  great  battle. 
But  the  Federal  army,  stuck  fast  in  Virginia  mud,  could 
not  move,  and  Confederate  soldiers  devoured  their 
hearts  in  inaction.  During  the  interval,  Dallas  had  the 
good  fortune  to  be  detained  on  special  service  in  Rich- 
mond, where  every  moment  not  required  by  business 
vras  devoted  to  Mrs.  Key  As  time  passed,  Madelaine 
became  accustomed  to  her  new  position.  She  liked 
Hugh  Dallas  better  than  any  man  she  knew.  She  was 
proud  of  his  reputation,  and  enjoyed  his  society  more 
than  that  of  any  man  or  even  woman,  which  is  saying 
much,  for  Madelaine  seriously  held  that  she  preferred 
women's  society  to  men's. 

Hugh,  on  his  part,  was  not  exacting  and  did  not 
press  the  situation,  but  carried  out  manfully  his  inten- 
tion of  devoting  all  his  powers  to  making  her  love  him 
more  than  a  little.  Madelaine,  unconscious  of  cruelty, 
enjoyed  the  subtle  and  refined  incense  of  a  passion 
which  for  her  sake  assumed  the  speech  and  guise  of 
friendship.  She  did  not  know  it  was  equivalent  to  ac- 
cepting libations  of  blood  from  a  man's  heart.  Hugh 
thought  himself  happy  when  he  could  hope,  as  he  some- 
times did,  that  he  was  slowly  gaining  ground. 


104  JACK  HORNER. 

Meanwhile,  the  hard  winter  was  beginning  to  break, 
and  Virginia  roads  were  becoming  more  passable.  Na- 
ture was  astir  with  the  new  birth  of  spring,  and  signs 
of  activity  in  both  armies  Avere  apparent.  Hugh  long 
remembered  the  day  when,  having  decided  that  his  arm 
was  as  well  as  it  would  ever  be,  he  threw  aside  band- 
ages and  sling,  and  donned  a  new  uniform.  It  was  not 
so  easy  as  the  old  one,  so  liberally  garnished  Avith  mud, 
to  say  nothing  of  blood,  but  it  was  more  becoming. 
Probably,  Dallas  did  not  know  how  well  he  looked  in 
the  fresh,  weU-fitting  suit,  whose  clean  gray  tint  and 
gold  trappings  set  off  his  advantages  of  form  and 
color.  Other  people  knew.  Passing  through  the  streets, 
men  noting  his  bronzed  face,  straight  back,  and  clean 
step,  thought  him  a  good  specimen  of  a  soldier.  At 
his  approach  every  woman  spruced  her  features  into  a 
neat  smile  of  appreciation. 

He  quite  dazzled  Madelaine  with  the  splendor  of  his 
war-paint  when  in  the  evening  he  entered  Miss  Patty's 
parlor,  where  she  sat  alone  reading.  She  threw  her 
book  aside  and  rose  to  meet  him,  ejes  brightening, 
dimples  deepening,  with  welcome. 

"A  new  uniform,  and  your  arm  out  of  the  sling! 
How  glad  I  am  !  " 

She  had  never  beamed  on  him  so  kindly.  His  heart 
swelled  with  pride  and  happiness.  His  joy  was  dashed 
when  she  added,  "We  shall  need  all  our  good  arms  in 
the  next  battle." 

Evidently  she  was  thinking  more  of  the  soldier  than 
the  man.  He  did  not  lose  patience.  He  was  only  too 
happy  that  she  thought  of  him  at  all.  She  was  think- 
ing of  him  more  than  he  imagined.     She  had  become 


'TWIXT  THE   CUP  AND   THE  LIP.       105 

sensitive  to  his  moods,  and  divined  that  behind  his  sat- 
isfaction at  having  his  arm  free,  something  weighed  on 
his  mind. 

"  What  is  it,  friend  ?  "  she  asked,  —  friend  being  the 
appellation  she  gave  liim  in  her  tenderer  moments.  It 
was  for  him  her  nearest  approach  to  a  caress,  and,  al- 
though less  than  he  desired,  pleased  him  to  the  heart's 
core. 

He  looked  fondly  in  her  eyes  without  answering. 

"  What  is  it,  friend  ?  "  she  repeated,  and  by  way  of 
emphasizing  her  question  touched  one  of  the  bright 
buttons  on  his  new  uniform.  Her  hand  hovering  over 
his  breast  made  him  tremble.  He  would  have  given 
his  life  to  grasp  it  and  cover  it  with  kisses,  but  he  knew 
that  to  do  so  would  make  her  shrink  away  from  him. 
That  she  held  it  so  near  his  violently  throbbing  heart 
and  felt  that  he  was  in  trouble  were  great  gains  on  his 
past  experience.  He  did  not  dare  to  frighten  away  her 
growing  confidence.  His  well-tutored  eyes  dwelt  on 
the  firm  white  beauty  of  her  hand,  the  turn  of  her 
wrist,  a  glimpse  of  her  arm,  as  if  he  saw  them  not. 
It  was  some  moments  before  he  could  get  like  command 
of  his  voice.     Finally,  he  answered,  — 

"  Something  that  troubles  me  more  than  it  will  you, 
dear." 

"  Has  the  enemy  advanced  ?  "  she  asked,  changing 
color,  by  turns  white  with  apprehension  and  red  with 
the  war  spirit. 

"  Nothing  so  important  as  that,"  he  answered  gently, 
hiding  his  disappointment  at  her  question.  Her  thoughts 
were  all  with  the  army.  "  Only  that  I  have  received 
orders,  and  shall  have  to  leave  town  in  two  hours." 


106  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Leave  in  two  hours  ? "  she  cried,  turning  alto- 
gether pale,  his  intelligence,  although  hourly  looked 
for,  coming  with  a  shock  at  last,  like  death,  however 
long  expected.  "  In  two  hours  ?  "  she  repeated,  real- 
izing in  a  moment  all  that  his  going  meant  for  her : 
supreme  sympatliy,  companionship,  friendship,  every- 
thing that  makes  a  woman's  happiness,  swept  out  of  her 
life ;  a  sovereign  suddenly  deprived  of  her  dominion. 
And  who  could  tell  if  he  would  come  back  ?  Partings 
were  so  much  more  common  than  meetings  in  those  sad 
days. 

Her  quivering  lip  and  the  undisguised  regret  in  her 
voice  made  Hugh  forget  everything  but  his  love.  They 
nearly  broke  the  strenuous  curb  with  which  he  held 
himself.  For  once  she  seemed  to  be  thinking  more  of 
the  man  than  the  soldier. 

"  You  are  sorry  ?  You  will  miss  me  ?  "  his  honest 
face  brightening  all  over. 

"  Miss  you  .''  Oh,  Hugh  '  "  her  hand  passing  from 
the  button  on  his  breast  to  his  arm,  where  it  rested, 
trembling.  She  had  never  called  him  by  his  name  be- 
fore. Her  utterance  of  that  one  word  stirred  his  blood 
like  the  music  of  a  love  song.  Her  hand  nestling 
on  his  arm,  her  blush  as  she  made  this  first  timid 
demonstration,  her  quickened  respiration  and  fragrant 
breath,  intoxicated  his  senses,  but  he  made  no  sign. 
He  would  be  her  friend  until  she  wished  him  to  be 
something  more.  He  had  once  declared  this  to  be  im- 
possible. With  a  gleam  of  hope,  he  had  found  that  to 
love  like  his  all  things  are  possible. 

"  Madelaine,"  he  said  tenderly,  "  I  am  going  back 
to  the  army." 


'TWIXT   THE   CUP  AND   THE  LIP.      107 

Madelaine  shivered. 

"  Oh,  Hugh  !  " 

"  It  is  not  far  away,  dear,  and  I  may  have  the  good 
luck  to  be  sent  here  again  with  dispatches,  and  then  I 
shall  see  you.  But  you  know  the  fortune  of  war,  I 
may  "  — 

"  Oh,  don't,  don't  say  it !  " 

She  had  parted  with  her  brothers  and  many  another 
young  fellow  on  the  same  dismal  errand,  and  had  bade 
them  Godspeed  with  a  spirit  intrepid  as  theirs.  Her 
courage  failed  now.  It  may  be  she  was  only  beginning 
to  realize  Hugh's  patient  devotion  and  her  poor  return. 
The  sting  of  self-reproach  sharpened  the  pain  of  part- 
ing. Hugh,  on  his  part,  may  have  perceived  the  feel- 
ing, and  refused  to  owe  to  remorse  what  he  asked  from 
love.  He  spoke  to  her  very  gently,  very  tenderly,  as  one 
of  her  brothers  might  have  done.  "  We  will  not  sai/ 
it,  dear,  but  we  know  it  all  the  same.  If  I  do  not  come 
back  " — 

"  If  —  you  —  do  —  not  —  come  —  back  "  —  she 
repeated  brokenly,  her  bosom  heaving  as  she  drew 
nearer  to  him. 

He  inhaled  the  perfume  of  her  hair,  felt  the  throb- 
bing of  her  heart  close  to  his.  He  trembled  from  head 
to  foot. 

"  If  I  do  not  come  back,  you  will  remember  how  I 
loved  you." 

"  Remember  ?  How  can  I  forget  ?  Oh,  Hugh,  is 
there  nothing  more  ?  " 

"  That  is  all  that  even  love  can  ask,  dearest,"  strok- 
ing her  cold  hands. 

"  But  you  tuill  come  back.    God  favors  our  cause,  and 


108  JACK  HORNER. 

He  will  keep  you  safe.  He  must,  we  cannot  lose  men 
like  you.  You  bear  a  charmed  life.  Remember  Ma- 
nassas, Antietam,  Fredericksburg  !  You  will  come 
back." 

'•  God  grant  it,  if  it  will  make  you  happier,  love." 

"  How  can  you  doubt  it  ?  But  how  little  I  have 
done  to  make  you  happy  !  Remember  ?  Of  course  I 
shall  remember  to  my  death  day.  Dearest  Hugh,  can't 
I  do  something  for  you  ?  " 

"  Madelaine,"  he  said  hoarsely,  as  he  held  her 
trembling  hands,  "  you  know  all  I  want  is  your  love." 

"  I  do  love  you,"  she  whispered,  blushing  scarlet. 

"  Yes,  a  little." 

"  Oh,  Hugh  !  " 

"  When  I  am  gone,  perhaps  you  will  love  me  more, 
and  that  will  make  me  happier  alive  —  or  dead." 

"  Hugh,"  she  repeated,  raising  her  convulsed,  tear- 
stained  face,  "  can't  I  do  something  for  you  ?  " 

He  took  her  face  in  his  hands  and  looked  fondly 
down  upon  it.     "  Will  you  do  something  for  me  ?  " 

The  quick-moving  blood  swept  over  cheek  and  neck 
again,  and  receding,  left  her  ashen  pale.  She  closed 
her  eyes,  and  pressing  her  hand  to  her  side  murmured, 
"I  will  do  what  you  wish,  Hugh." 

His  heart  gave  a  great  leap. 

"Do  you  mean  it,  darling?"  he  asked,  his  pulses 
beating  tumultuously.  "  You  know  I  have  but  one 
wish." 

His  eager,  hapjjy  face  strengthened  her  resolution. 

"  I  mean  it,"  she  said  steadily,  putting  one  of  her 
cold  hands  in  his  by  way  of  attestation. 

"  Are   you   quite    sure,    Madelaine  ?     The    time   is 


'TWIXT  THE    CUP  AND   THE  LIP.      109 

short,  and  I  did  not  mean  to  press  you,  love.  God 
knows  1  would  die  —  I  meant  to  die  rather  than  trouble 
you.     You  know  we  have  only  one  hour." 

"  I  know,  and  "  — 

"  And  "  — 

"  Within  the  hour  I  will  marry  you." 


XII. 

THERE  'S    MANY   A    SLIP. 

During  the  war,  the  emotions  and  events  of  an  or- 
dinary lifetime  were  often  crowded  into  short  space. 
Lads  who  had  not  mastered  the  spelling-book  were 
graduated  veterans  in  carnage.  Marriages  were  made 
in  the  halt  between  two  battles.  Brides  were  widowed 
before  the  honeymoon  began. 

As  spring  advanced,  the  thrill  that  quickened  all 
nature  into  life  passed  along  both  armies,  rousing  them 
to  their  work  of  death.  Both  sides  were  eager  for 
the  struggle  that  would  blacken  the  sj^ring  sunshine, 
scatter  the  peace  of  field  and  meadow,  drench  young 
herbage  in  gore,  ruin  lives,  break  hearts,  and  send  souls 
to  their  account.  In  Richmond,  anticipation  of  a  battle 
was  always  a  time  of  great  spiritual  exaltation.  Still- 
ness brooded  over  human  souls  like  the  hush  that 
presages  a  devastating  storm.  Prayer,  freed  from  the 
dross  of  self,  besieged  heaven  as  a  pure  flame.  Love 
showed  itself  capable  of  heroism.  Friendship  was 
tender  as  love. 

At  such  a  time,  Dallas  was  suddenly  recalled  to  the 
army,  and  Madelaine,  profoundly  moved,  agreed  to 
marry  him  as  soon  as  he  could  procure  a  license  and  a 
parson. 


THERE'S  MANY  A  SLIP.  Ill 

Improvised  weddings  were  not  uncommon  then. 
But  a  wedding  is  always  interesting,  and  the  Pritchard 
household  were  duly  excited  when  it  became  known 
that  Mrs.  Key  was  to  be  married  within  an  hour.  Miss 
Patty,  like  ail  spinsters,  inclined  to  weep  over  births 
and  marriages,  was  tearful  and  sympathetic  as  she 
rearranged  the  drawing-room  furniture  to  make  space 
for  the  performance  of  the  solemn  ordinance.  Larry 
felt  important  over  the  part  he  was  to  take  in  replying 
to  the  question,  "  Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  married 
to  this  man  ?  "  Mrs.  Manning  hurried  Jack  into  his 
whitest,  freshest  frock.  The  negro  servants  tidied 
themselves  as  best  they  could  at  such  short  notice. 

Half-past  eight  was  the  hour  appointed  for  the  cere- 
mony. The  little  company  assembled,  the  family  on 
one  side  of  the  room,  the  servants  on  the  other,  in 
eager,  half-glad,  half-sad  expectation.  A  wedding  from 
which  the  groom  was  to  depart  for  the  battlefield  has 
its  tragic  side.  On  the  other  hand,  it  were  better  for 
lovers  to  wed  although  so  soon  parted,  than  not  to  wed 
at  all.  The  family  between  smiles  and  tears  tried  to 
make  cheerful  talk.  The  negroes,  believing  a  wedding 
to  be  occasion  for  jollity,  were  in  a  broad  grin. 

Dallas,  outwardly  calm,  his  eyes  glowing  with  hap- 
piness, his  face  flushed  with  haste,  —  the  parson  and 
the  license  had  been  at  opposite  ends  of  the  town,  —  en- 
tered the  room  some  minutes  before  the  time.  He  had 
the  license  all  right,  the  parson  would  be  with  them 
presently.  Madelaine  had  not  made  her  appearance. 
Minutes  passed,  and  all  eyes  turned  towards  the  clock. 
However  glad  to  marry  her  lover,  was  ever  bride 
punctual  ?    This  one-clad  in  mourning,  deathly  pale,  her 


112  JACK  HORNER. 

eyes  circled  ■with  dark  shadows,  entered  the  room  as 
a  single  stroke  marked  the  hour. 

*'  Good  Lord !  She  's  got  on  a  black  frock,"  whis- 
pered Afra.  horror-stricken. 

"  She  ain't  got  no  other  kind,"  sensibly  returned  the 
chambermaid. 

'*  She  won't  have  no  luck  all  her  life.  An'  de  groom 
gwine  out  to  fight,  too.  I  '11  git  de  blooms  off  my  rose 
juranium.  She  mus'  have  some  color  to  her  ;  an'  look 
at  dem  cheeks,  as  white  as  ef  she  was  gwine  to  be  buried 
stead  o'  married  !  " 

'-  For  de  Lord's  sake,  stop  croakin,"  said  the  other. 

Afra,  herself  resplendent  in  color,  bustled  off  for 
the  geranium  blossom.  Madelaine  turned  a  shade 
paler  when  she  perceived  that  the  clergyman  had  not 
arrived.  She  had  nerved  herself  to  do  anything  but 
■wait. 

"  Mr.  Rothwell  not  come  ?  "  she  asked  anxiously, 
trying  to  smile  in  Hugh's  face. 

"  Oh,  he  -will  be  here  presently,  and  I  'm  going  to 
give  you  away,"  said  Larry  encouragingly. 

Madelaine  felt  as  if  she  would  choke.  It  was  a 
relief  when  Jack,  sent  by  Afra,  toddled  across  the 
room,  and  held  up  to  her  a  bunch  of  pink  flowers. 

It  took  some  time  to  fasten  them  in  her  dress.  When 
she  raised  her  head,  they  glistened  as  if  wet  with  dew. 

'•  Tears.  Madelaine !  "  exclaimed  Larry,  who,  with 
the  best  intentions,  usually  contrived  to  make  a  crisis 
harrowing.  "  That  ■will  never  do  for  a  bride,  and  a 
soldier's  bride,  too." 

"  Is  not  my  soldier  going  away  ?  "  she  asked,  with 
a  brave  smile. 


THERE'S  MANY  A  SLIP.  113 

Hugh's  glowing  eyes  thanked  and  blessed  her,  as  he 
pressed  her  hand,  which  she  had  passed  through  his 
arm. 

"  "Will  Mr.  Rothwell  never  come  ?  "  thought  Made- 
laine,  the  minutes  dragging  like  hours. 

Hugh  began  to  look  anxiously  at  the  clock.  He  had 
an  appointment  with  the  Secretary  of  War  at  nine, 
with  barely  time  to  catch  the  train  going  later  to  the 
seat  of  war. 

"  Where  was  Mr.  Rothwell  when  you  found  him, 
major  ?  "  asked  Miss  Patty,  her  voice  trembling  with 
suppressed  excitement. 

'*  At  the  hospital,"  said  Dallas,  his  countenance 
changing  as  he  recalled  the  scene,  "  helping  a  wounded 
man  through  his  last  fight  but  the  poor  fellow  had 
become  unconscious,  and  Rothwell  said  he  would  come 
at  once." 

Miss  Patty's  excitement  extended  to  the  others. 
Everybody  was  breathless  with  expectation.  Every 
ear  was  strained  to  catch  a  coming  footstep,  when  a 
great  clanging  sound,  with  long,  trembling  reverbera- 
tions, swallowed  up  all  other  sounds,  and  brought  every- 
body to  their  feet  with  blanched  cheeks.  ''Clang, 
clang,  clang !  "  it  rang,  filling  the  air  and  deafening 
the  ear  with  its  vibrations,  carrying  the  same  message 
to  every  intelligence.  It  was  an  agreed  signal.  The 
enemy  was  at  the  gate.  There  was  but  one  answer  to 
be  made. 

"  Go,  Hugh  !  "  cried  Madelaine,  recovering  in  a  mo- 
ment and  raising  her  lips  to  his  for  their  first  kiss. 

"  Go,  Larry  !  "  cried  Miss  Patty,  forgetting  to  trem- 
ble, as  she  brought  from  the  haU  a  rifle  that  always 
stood  there. 


114  JACK  HORNER. 

The  air  still  hummed  with  the  vibrations  of  the 
great  town  bell. 

Hugh  drew  from  his  pocket  the  ring  which  was  to 
have  been  their  wedding  ring,  and  placed  it  on  Made- 
laine's  finger.  Then  he  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and 
straining  her  to  his  breast  kissed  her  brow,  eyes,  and 
mouth.  "  Good-by,  my  darling  —  my  love  —  my  life 
—  my  wife.'" 

Madelaine  plucked  the  bruised  flowers  from  her 
bosom  and  pressed  them  into  his.  "  Take  these,  dear 
Hugh,  and  remember  my  prayers  go  with  you." 

With  one  last,  loving  look  he  went  away. 

Larry,  his  puerilities  dropping  from  him  like  a  gar- 
ment, followed  with  the  heart  and  bearing  of  a  man. 

"  Go,  Dannel,  you  nigger,  go,"  cried  Afra,  nudging 
the  coachman,  "  an'  take  car  o'  Mars  Larry." 

"  'T  ain't  vvuth  yo  while  tellin'  me  dat,  I  was  gwine 
anyhow,"  buttoning  up  his  coat,  and  hurrying  after  his 
master. 

The  women  were  left  alone.  The  hours  wore  on  in 
an  agony  of  suspense.  God  alone  knew  what  was 
going  to  happen.  The  reserves  had  been  called  out. 
All  night  long,  the  streets  resounded  with  the  tramp  of 
soldiers,  the  creaking  of  gun-carriages,  the  clamor  of 
excited  men  and  frightened  women,  while  not  far  away 
flashed  the  lightning  and  roared  the  thunder  of  artil- 
lery. 

With  the  morning  came  tidings  that  there  had  been 
no  general  engagement,  but  that  a  small  force  of  the 
enemy  had  made  a  bold  raid  upon  the  town,  and  had 
been  repulsed.    This  was  one  of  the  vicissitudes  of  war. 

At  dawn,  Madelaine,  hearing  the  good  news,  threw 
herself  on  her  bed  to  rest. 


THERE'S  MANY  A  SLIP.  115 

Afra,  drawing  her  curtains  to  shut  out  the  rising 
day,  said  in  a  soft,  crooning  tone  full  of  regret,  — 

"  La,  Miss  Madelin,  you  did  n't  git  married  arter 
all." 

Madelaine  buried  her  face  in  her  pillow  and  mur- 
mured, "  Thank  God  !  "  Then,  with  a  pang  of  remorse, 
she  breathed  a  soft  "  God  forgive  me !  " 


XIII. 

THE   SON    OF   HIS    COUNTRY. 

When  the  excitement  attendant  upon  the  raid  had 
subsided,  Richmond  burst  forth  in  renewed  gayety. 
It  is  always  so.  The  temper  of  a  city  pressed  close  by 
hostile  armies  is  abnormal,  as  in  hysteria  when  laughter 
follows  hard  upon  tears,  and  tears  give  place  to  laugh- 
ter. 

It  is  true  that  some  of  Richmond's  best  citizens  had 
lost  their  lives,  and  many  slaves  had  gone  off  with  the 
raiders,  but  the  defense  on  the  whole  was  successful. 
The  Federal  colonel  who  led  the  expedition  had  been 
killed,  and  his  men  driven  within  their  lines  near  Fred- 
ericksburg. The  Richmond  dead  were  buried  with 
military  honors,  and  the  living  rejoiced  over  the  victory. 
Larry  Pritchard's  night  in  the  ranks  brought  him  no 
worse  disaster  than  an  attack  of  rheumatism.  Hugh 
Dallas,  who  had  joined  his  command,  was  with  the 
army,  which  he  had  no  oppoi-tunity  of  leaving  before 
the  great  day  at  Chancellorsville. 

Bo  Disney  was  one  of  those  who,  when  the  scare  was 
over,  and  she  found  that  none  of  her  immediate  friends 
had  been  killed,  felt  like  expressing  her  gratitude  by 
giving  an  entertainment.  Bo  was  a  Treasury  clerk 
with  barely  enough  to  live  on,  and  entertaining  was  a 
superfluity  that  nobody  in  similar  circumstances  would 


THE  SON  OF  HIS   COUNTRY.  117 

dream  of  indulging  in  but  Bo  herself.  She  said  she 
was  nothing  if  not  hospitable,  and  had  no  idea  of  losing 
her  chances  of  entertaining  angels  unawares.  Failing 
angels,  men  and  women  would  do  as  well,  probably 
better. 

The  Disney  family  consisted  of  Bo  and  her  mother ; 
their  apartments,  of  two  rooms  in  the  attic  of  a  shabby 
lodging-house ;  their  larder,  of  such  provisions  as  could 
be  bought  with  a  Treasury  clerk's  salary,  which  was 
constantly  increasing  in  bulk  and  decreasing  in  value. 

Bo  contended  that  an  entertainment  consisted  of  two 
parts,  the  spiritual  and  the  material,  and  anybody  with 
a  soul  above  buttons  would  agree  that  the  former  was 
the  more  important  of  the  two.  In  fact,  to  use  a  mate- 
rial metaphor,  the  material  bore  to  the  spiritual  the 
relation  that  a  flagon  does  to  wine.  Wine  was  the 
chief  thing,  and  if  you  could  not  get  a  flagon,  it  would 
taste  almost  as  well  out  of  a  mug.  Seats  on  silken 
sofas  were  all  very  well  in  their  way,  but  as  far  as  she 
was  concerned,  it  was  the  person  who  sat  beside  her 
on  the  sofa  that  made  all  the  difference  between  pleas- 
m'e  and  boredom.  Indeed,  she  had  more  than  once 
been  so  happy  sitting  on  a  fence  rail  that  she  could  not 
have  told  whether  she  was  on  earth  or  in  heaven.  So 
Bo,  with  her  head  on  one  side  and  her  finger  on  her 
lips,  stood  in  the  doorway  meditating  how  the  thing 
was  to  be  done. 

The  rooms,  though  shabby,  were  large  and  airy  ;  too 
airy,  in  fact,  for  the  scanty  supplj'^  of  fire  in  the  grate. 

"  Mother,  I  have  it !  "  she  exclaimed,  Avith  sudden 
inspiration. 

"  What  have  you  got  now  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Disney,  a 


118  JACK  HORNER. 

delicate-looking  woman,  who,  wi"apped  in  shawls,  sat 
near  the  fire  patching  a  pair  of  old  gray  trousers. 

"  An  idea!  "  warmly. 

"  You  never  lack  for  those,  Bo." 

"  But  this  is  a  practical  one." 

"  Ah,  that  is  something  new." 

"  You  see  I  am  anxious  to  inaugui'ate  a  salon." 

"  A  salon  ?  "  glancing  round  the  room.  '•  Here,  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes,  here.  But  please  understand  from  the  begin- 
ning that  the  glory  of  my  salon,  as  of  othei's,  is  to  be 
the  people,  not  the  things." 

"  A  salon  ? "  repeated  Mrs.  Disney  meditatively. 
"  It  is  plain  where  that  idea  comes  from." 

Bo  flushed  slightly. 

"  All  my  life,  that  is  ever  since  I  could  read,"  she 
said,  "  I  have  been  fascinated  with  the  idea  of  having 
a  salon  of  my  own,  if  I  could." 

"  Does  M.  St.  Maur  like  salons  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  or  rather,  being  French,  I  suppose 
he  does." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  might  wait  for  a  more  suit- 
able time,  until  after  the  war,  for  example  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  no  time  could  be  so  suitable  as  the 
present.  Salons  thrive  in  times  of  intense  excitement. 
Antagonism  is  the  breath  of  their  nostrils.  It  is  in 
times  like  these  that  men  and  women  feel  the  need  of  a 
common  ground,  where  they  can  meet  and  express  their 
real  feelings  about  real  things.  Clothes,  furniture,  and 
fops  are  mere  rubbish  nowadays.  In  fact,  they  are 
always  of  small  account,  but  it  takes  a  conflagration  to 
make  people  see  them  in  their  proper  light." 


THE  SON  OF  HIS   COUNTRY.  119 

Mrs.  Disney  yawned. 

"  Bo,  you  said  you  had  an  idea.  It  seems  to  me  you 
have  many." 

"  Nothing  is  so  prolific  as  an  idea,  mamma.  One  al- 
ways begets  others." 

"  Apropos  of  salons,  is  that  an  epigram  ?  " 

"  You  may  call  it  so,  if  you  like.  But  now  let  us  re- 
turn to  our  muttons." 

"  Yours,  if  you  please." 

"  It  is  lucky  we  have  a  porch  at  the  back." 

Mrs.  Disney  looked  up.  It  was  impossible  to  fol- 
low Bo. 

"  Porch  ?  Are  you  going  to  have  a  porch  as  well  as  a 
salon  ?  Do  you  mean  to  play  Zeno  as  well  as  Madame 
de  Stael,  and  combine  philosophy  with  epigrams?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  was  only  wondering  what  we  could  do 
for  a  pantry  and  a  place  to  put  our  beds  the  night  of 
the  salon." 

Mrs.  Disney  shivered. 

"  If  you  put  our  beds  on  the  porch  this  weather,  they 
will  get  so  cold  we  shall  not  be  able  to  sleep  in  them." 

"  I  had  not  thought  of  that.  But  we  can  manage 
somehow.  I  think  I  can  get  your  bed  into  the  ward- 
robe. I  suppose  it  does  not  matter  about  the  bedstead's 
getting  cold  ?  " 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  ?  You  can't 
shut  me  up  in  a  wardrobe." 

"  You  ?  Why,  you  are  to  be  the  chief  ornament  o£ 
the  salon." 

Mrs.  Disney  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  smiled. 
Youth  and  beauty  had  departed,  but  a  compliment  was 
a  compliment  still.     She  was  faded,  and  her  garments 


120  JACK  HORNER. 

were  shabby,  but  something  about  her  gave  unmistak- 
able evidence  of  former  beauty,  and  a  past  in  which 
patches  had  played  no  part. 

"  I  think,"  said  Bo,  her  brain  still  busy  with  plans, 
"  I  shall  call  my  salon  '  The  Ephemeral.'  A  fleeting 
thing  seems  to  have  more  fascination  tlian  a  fixture." 

"  Heaven  grant  the  name  may  prove  appropi-iate," 
thought  Mrs.  Disney. 

Invitations  to  Bo's  Ephemeral  were  issued,  and  prejj- 
arations  made,  in  spite  of  a  great  deal  of  delicate  satire 
on  Mrs.  Disney's  part.  The  dingy  walls  of  their 
apartment  were  made  to  look  festive  by  hangings  of 
flags  of  all  kinds ;  in  fact,  whatever  Bo  could  get  hold 
of.  Even  star-spangled  banners,  not  then  in  demand 
in  Richmond,  were  made  to  do  duty  as  background, 
while  Confederate  bunting  with  state  and  foreign  flags 
were  draped  over  the  old  colors,  clouding  the  blue  and 
blotting  out  the  stars.  Toilet  arrangements  and  bed- 
steads were  exiled  to  the  Siberia  of  the  back  porch. 
Mrs.  Disney's  bed,  after  sundry  bursting  of  bonds,  was 
finally  got  under  lock  and  key  in  a  wardrobe.  By 
lamplight,  the  effect  of  these  and  similar  makeshifts 
was  not  bad.  Bo  counted  upon  the  company  doing 
the  rest.  The  human,  or  what  she  called  the  spiritual, 
element  of  the  affair  was  to  be  everything  that  could 
be  desired.  Patched  carpets  and  invalid  chairs  would 
not  be  noticed. 

Meanwhile,  the  invitations  to  the  forthcoming  Ephe- 
meral created  quite  a  buzz  of  curiosity  and  interest  in 
society.  Here  at  last  was  something  new  under  the 
sun.  Something  which  Solomon  had  not  foreseen,  and 
which  took  a  Bo  Disney  to  effect.     It  made  one  of  two 


THE  SON  OF  HIS  COUNTRY.  121 

prominent  topics  of  conversation  at  a  morning  recep- 
tion at  the  President's. 

Mrs.  President,  who  had  been  in  retirement  for  some 
months,  had  signaled  her  return  to  society  by  general 
invitations  to  a  morning  reception,  and  everybody  was 
there.  A  feature  of  the  entertainment,  and  the  other 
prominent  topic  of  conversation,  was  a  young  Davis, 
who  had  made  his  debut  into  life  since  his  mother's 
last  appearance,  and  on  this  occasion  received  with  her. 

Callers,  having  paid  their  respects  to  the  head  of  the 
nation,  were  notified  that  they  were  expected  to  retire 
through  an  anteroom,  where  this  latest  scion  of  the 
presidential  house,  attended  by  a  pretty  nurse,  and 
lying  in  a  dainty  silk-lined  cradle,  received  homage 
with  round-eyed  simplicity.  Here,  in  the  limp  passiv- 
ity of  a  six  weeks'  existence  and  the  glory  of  a  christen- 
ing frock,  he  smiled,  when  he  was  awake,  with  bland 
impartiality  on  all  his  visitors. 

Boadicea,  caught  in  the  stream  of  retiring  guests 
who  were  dividing  their  admiration  between  the  mot- 
tled atom  of  humanity  in  the  cradle  and  the  cloud  of 
lace  and  embroidery  in  which  it  was  enveloped,  found 
herself  near  Albion  and  Gaul. 

"  What  a  brave  little  man  !  "  exclaimed  St.  Maur, 
apostrophizing  the  baby  and  the  pretty  nurse  with 
polite  effusion. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  blurted  the  Englishman.  "  If  the  office 
of  Confederate  President  were  hereditary,  one  could 
understand  having  the  boy  —  is  it  a  boy  ?  —  here,  in- 
stead of  in  the  nursery." 

"  You  English  think  too  much  of  heredity,"  volun- 
teered Bo.    "  Our  democratic  principle,  that  every  man 


122  JACK  HORNER. 

must  work  out  his  own  destiny,  is  better.  Now  this 
child  will  have  an  opportunity  of  achieving  greatness, 
which  is  better  than  being  born  a  president." 

"  Apropos,"  said  Albion,  ignoring  the  democratic 
idea,  lowering  his  voice,  and  addressing  himself  di- 
rectly to  Bo,  "  speaking  of  a  child  and  English  hered- 
ity reminds  me.  Do  you  chance  to  know  an  English  — 
or  rather  a  Welsh  —  family  here  by  the  name  of  Prit- 
chard,  or,  as  it  was  formerly  called,  Ap  Richard  ?  " 

"  Do  I  chance  to  know  them  ?  "  laughed  Bo.  "■  Why, 
they  chance  to  be  among  my  intimates." 

''  That  is  lucky,"  dropping  his  voice  still  lower,  and 
getting  Bo  off  into  a  corner.  "  Then  you  can  tell  me 
if  it  is  true  that  they  have  recently  taken  into  their 
house  a  —  a  "  — 

''  What?  "  asked  Bo,  her  eyes  dancing  with  curiosity, 
expectation,  and  all  kindred  emotions. 

"  That  is,  have  they  recently  adopted  a  child,  a  boy 
so  to  speak  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  boy  so  to  speak,  and  a  splendid  specimen ; 
but  he  is  a  profound  mystery.  What  do  you  know 
about  him  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  but  I  should  like  to  find  out  something." 

Here  an  influx  of  visitors  to  the  baby  show  made 
further  conversation  impossible. 

"  Come  to  the  Ephemeral,  Tuesday,"  said  Bo,  as 
they  were  separated  by  the  crowd.  "  Come  early,  and 
I  will  tell  you  what  I  know.  The  Ephemeral  is  for 
the  discussion  of  vexed  questions,  big  and  little. 
Good-by." 

If  the  mind  is  fully  occupied  with  a  subject,  every- 
thing that  happens  seems  to  bear  on  that  one  thing. 


THE  SON  OF  HIS  COUNTRY.  123 

Boadlcea,  coming  fi'om  the  reception,  passed  through 
the  Capitol  squai"e,  on  her  way  back  to  her  desk  at 
the  Treasury.  There,  in  shadow  of  the  Washington 
Monument,  she  stumbled  upon  St.  Maur,  who  had  es- 
caped from  the  overcrowded  reception  when  she  went 
off  into  a  corner  with  Albion.  He  was  now  occupied 
in  chucking  Jack,  out  in  his  Confederate  overcoat, 
under  the  chin,  while  he  talked  animatedly  with  the 
child's  pretty  nurse,  Mrs.  Manning.  He  was  appar- 
ently so  interested  in  the  conversation  as  not  to  per- 
ceive Bo  until  she  was  close  upon  them.  The  girl 
glanced  impatiently  at  Washington,  innocently  caracol- 
ing on  his  bronze  horse,  with  the  indignant  mental 
ejaculation,  — 

"  You  are  the  father  of  your  country,  and  Jack,  from 
the  interest  all  the  men  take  in  him,  would  seem  to  be 
the  son  of  his." 

"  Aha,  mademoiselle  !  "  exclaimed  St.  Maur,  with 
his  perfect  smile  and  bow,  when  at  last  he  perceived 
her.  "  You  see  I  stopped  a  moment  to  caress  the  boy 
whom  you  sometimes  caress.  He  is  not  the  rose  ex- 
actly, but  "  —  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  Good-by, 
little  man." 

With  a  final  touch  of  Jack's  dimpled  chin,  St.  Maur 
with  easy  transition  bestowed  a  glance  equally  tender 
on  Bo's  blushing  cheek,  and  walked  with  her  to  the 
Treasury  door. 

"  Did  you  have  any  particular  reason  for  such  ani- 
mated talk  with  Mrs.  Manning  ?  "  asked  Bo,  trying  to 
appear  playful  while  in  dead  earnest. 

"  Yes,  a  particular  reason,"  with  inscrutable  gravity. 

"  I  wonder  what  reason  anybody  can  have  for  talk- 


124  JACK  HORXER. 

ing  to  that  kind  of  person  ?  "  haughtily  arranging  her 
bonnet  strings. 

"  I  will  tell  you  some  day.  Ah,  here  we  are  at  your 
treadmill  door,  and  I  must  go  to  mine.  I  hope  your 
department  is  as  well-named  as  mine ;  we  have  a  good 
deal  of  war  at  the  War  Office.  I  hope  it  is  all  treas- 
ure with  you.     Au  revoir." 


XIV. 

THE   EPHEMERAL. 

The  evening  of  the  Ephemeral  arrived,  and  the  first 
guest  who  made  his  appearance  was  Albion. 

"  There  's  something  in  it,"  thought  Bo,  nodding 
wisely  to  herself,  when  she  saw  his  bulky  figure  and 
florid  face  making  their  way  upstairs. 

Mrs.  Disney,  in  consequence  of  her  apartment  being 
turned  into  a  salon,  was  making  a  slow  toilet  in  a  bor- 
rowed dressing-room  in  a  distant  corner  of  the  house. 
Bo  was  alone  when  Albion  entered.  He  was  not  long 
in  introducing  his  subject.  After  exchanging  weather- 
notes  and  admiring  the  flags  on  the  walls,  especially 
that  of  the  lion  and  the  unicorn,  he  plunged  into  the 
middle  of  things.  "  Well,  Miss  Disney,  what  about 
the  Pritchard  foundling  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  ?  The  color  of  his 
eyes  ?  " 

"  Humph  !  That  is  the  last  thing.  Is  he  healthy  ? 
Likely  to  live  ?  " 

"  Splendid  health.     Live  forever." 

Albion  looked  at  her  sharply.  Was  she  imitating 
him  ?     Bo  was  perfectly  grave. 

"  The  Pritchards  are  rich,  aren't  they  ?  " 

"  Considered  so,  very." 

"  Humph !  Do  you  think  they  will  adopt  the  boy,  or 
is  it  a  passing  fancy  ?  " 


126  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Miss  Pritchard  seems  very  fond  of  him." 

"  Leave  him  her  money,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Some  of  it,  I  suppose.     Will  you  be  glad  ?  " 

"  Who  —  I  ?  "  ferociously. 

"  Yes,  if  you  are  so  much  interested  in  him." 

"  I  am  not  the  least  interested  in  him.  I  am  inter- 
ested on  the  other  side." 

"  The  other  side  !  I  did  n't  know  there  was  an- 
other side." 

"  Yes,  yes.  These  Pritchards  have  nieces  and 
nephews  in  Wales,  friends  of  mine,  not  at  all  well-off. 
I  think  they  have  expectations  from  your  friends.  At 
any  rate,  they  asked  me  to  make  some  inquiries  as  to 
the  heirs  in  America." 

"  And  is  that  what  you  wanted  to  know  ?  "  in  deep 
disappointment. 

"  Yes.  What  could  you  have  supposed  ?  What 's 
the  matter  ?  " 

"  Only  that  here  is  the  end  of  another  wild-goose 
chase,"  sighed  Bo.  "  Ah,  here  come  some  more  peo- 
ple," leaving  Albion  staring  and  wondering  what  she 
meant. 

People  continued  to  come,  and  Bo's  salon  succeeded 
beyond  her  anticipation.  Her  rooms  were  well  filled, 
and  everybody  seemed  to  enjoy  themselves-  Even 
Mrs.  Disney,  in  spite  of  her  satire  and  forebodings, 
rose  to  the  occasion  and  was  in  brilliant  spirits.  She 
would  not  have  confessed  it,  but  society  was  her  nat- 
ural element,  and  for  this  one  evening  she  felt  she  was 
in  her  dear  world  again.  Carefully  dressed  in  an  old 
black  silk  which  looked  well  enough  by  gaslight,  and 
seated  in  the  safest  of  the  invalid  armchairs,  her  deli- 


THE  EPHEMERAL.  127 

cate,  high-bred  face  was  thrown  into  relief  by  a  dark 
blue  flag  draped  on  the  wall  behind  her.  Bo  thought 
she  posed  well  as  queen  of  a  salon. 

*'  You  love  music,  Mrs.  Disney  ?  "  said  Madelaine, 
touched  by  the  pale,  worn  face  irradiated  with  pleasure 
by  a  song  from  a  girl  with  a  rich  contralto  voice. 

"  Love  it  ?  "  with  girlish  enthusiasm.  "  Yes,  noth- 
ing gives  me  such  delight.  Of  all  Solomon's  glory  I 
envy  most  his  men  singers  and  women  singers.  If  I 
were  rich  and  went  in  for  luxuries,  that 's  the  kind  of 
thing  I  'd  have." 

"  Mamma  does  not  know  it,  but  she  likes  all  the 
luxuries,"  said  Bo,  hovering  near.  "  All  day  she  has 
been  devouring  one  of  George  Eliot's  novels  sent  us 
through  the  lines." 

"  That 's  a  doubtful  luxury.  Bo.  The  book  is  so 
dreadfully  sad.  If  Burton  had  not  been  beforehand, 
were  I  George  Eliot,  I  should  call  my  novels  '  The 
Anatomy  of  Melancholy.'  It  would  describe  them  in 
four  words,  and  save  volumes  of  learned  criticism  on 
her  scalpel  and  hopelessness." 

"  Mrs.  Disney,  you  ought  to  write  a  novel  yourself," 
said  Madelaine. 

"  I  shall  never  do  that,  but  I  should  like  to  get  the 
ear  of  the  novelists." 

"  What  would  you  ask  them,  mamma  ?  "  said  Bo. 

"  I  should  ask  them  to  have  their  characters  set  clear, 
like  modern  jewels,  so  that  you  can  see  all  round  them. 
To  bury  them  in  descriptions  and  explanations  destroys 
their  vitality  just  as  the  heavy  old-fashioned  settings 
dimmed  the  lustre  of  diamonds." 

"  I   agree  with  you  about  descriptions.     Tliey  are 


128  JACK  HORNER. 

very  tiresome,  especially  descriptions  of  scenery,"  said 
Madelaine. 

"  Yes,  unless  the  writer  has  the  art  of  putting  the 
scene  before  you  at  a  glance,  as  nature  does.  I 
should  n't  care  for  the  finest  view  if  I  had  to  take  in 
each  detail  separately  as  in  a  hook,  and  through  such  a 
clumsy  medium  as  words." 

"  I  think  explanations  of  characters  even  worse," 
said  Bo.  "  Which  of  us  goes  round  with  a  glossary  at- 
tached to  translate  everything  we  say  and  do  into  the 
vulgar  tongue  ?  It  is  one  of  the  charms  of  life  that  we 
do  not  always  understand  our  own  motives  and  actions, 
much  less  other  people's." 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  new  arri- 
vals, who  claimed  Mrs.  Disney's  attention. 

"  Madelaine  !  "  said  Bo,  delighted  that  her  mother 
entered  so  cordially  into  the  spirit  of  the  evening. 
"  You  know  how  to  bring  mamma  out.  Y'ou  read  peo- 
ple like  books." 

"  Speaking  of  books,"  said  Madelaine,  "  you  read 
French  books  better  than  I  do,  and  here  comes  your 
French  friend,  looking  as  fresh  and  crisp  in  evening 
dress  as  an  edition  de  luxe  just  from  the  press." 

"  Yes,  the  clothes-press,"  said  Bo,  with  heightened 
color,  and  the  little  depreciatory  way  in  which  she 
spoke  of  St.  Maur. 

"  Why,  what  has  become  of  you  ?  "  she  said,  in  quite 
a  different  key  when  he  reached  her.  "  I  have  not 
seen  you  since  —  let  me  see,  since  "  — 

"  Since  the  day  on  the  Capitol  square." 

"  Yes,  when  you  seemed  so  much  interested.  By 
the  bye,  you  promised  to  tell  me  "  — 


THE  EPHEMERAL.  129 

"  My  particular  reason,"  enjoying  her  curiosity.  "  I 
played  with  Jack  because  he  is  a  friend  of  yours.  I 
talked  with  the  nurse  because  "  — 

Bo's  eyes  were  two  brilliant  interrogation  points. 

"  Because  she  is  a  pretty  woman." 

"  A  Frenchma.ns  reason  !  "  said  Bo,  turning  away 
in  a  pet.  It  was  the  second  time  this  evening  that  she 
had  discovered  a  mare's  nest. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  St.  Maur  following,  and  Bo 
halted. 

Why  is  the  unaccustomed  more  fascinating  than  the 
usual  ?  Plain  "  Miss  "  would  not  have  stayed  her.  St. 
Maur's  "  Mademoiselle  "  was  lengthened  sweetness,  and 
Bo  wanted  to  hear  what  came  after. 

"  May  I  give  you  a  word  of  counsel?"  he  asked,  in 
the  kindliest  fashion. 

"  Of  course,"  mollified. 

''  If  I  were  you,"  he  said,  standing  before  her  with 
the  gently  deprecating  air  of  one  who  anticipates  a 
scolding  for  performing  a  duty,  "  I  should  ask  no 
more  concerning  Jack.  It  may  bring  you  an  awkward 
answer  some  day." 

Bo  blushed  painfully.  She  saw  that  St.  Maur  had 
reason.  She  did  not  know  what  to  say.  Twenty  in- 
dignant answers  presented  themselves.  Finally  justice 
prevailed.  With  a  grave  "  Thank  you,"  she  turned 
away.  She  had  never  liked  St.  Maur  so  well.  As 
a  proof,  she  never  busied  herself  about  Jack's  origin 
again.     The  mystery  should  unfold  without  her  help. 

The  evening  wore  on,  and  Bo  looked  round  on  her 
salon  with  unfeigned  delight.  Everywhere  conversa- 
tion was  in  full  and  easy  flow.     Her  guests  seemed  to 


130  JACK  HORNER. 

have  donned  their  best  spirits  and  keenest  wits  for  the 
occasion.  Her  salon  was  an  accomplished  fact.  It 
was  getting  late  when  she  thought  of  the  refreshments, 
and  how  they  were  to  be  brought  in  from  the  back 
porch  without  disclosing  the  clumsiness  of  the  arrange- 
ment. Finally,  she  hit  upon  the  plan  of  getting  the 
contralto  to  sing  in  the  front  room,  which  would  draw 
everybody  thither  as  honey  attracts  bees.  Then  she 
would  close  the  doors  between  the  two  rooms  and  have 
in  the  slim  repast  before  the  song  was  over.  This 
would  have  been  a  feasible  plan,  but,  unfortunately  for 
Bo,  the  tempting  odor  of  sweets  had  been  too  much  for 
a  negro  boy  next  door,  who  sniifed  their  tempting  odor 
through  the  boards  which  separated  his  master's  back 
porch  from  hers.  He  had  climbed  over  into  the  latter 
at  the  peril  of  his  bones,  and  was  there  found  red- 
handed  and  red-mouthed  with  the  spoils.  He  had 
made  such  havoc  with  the  provender  that  there  was 
not  enough  left  for  the  Ephemeral.  Besides  stuffing 
himself,  he  had  shared  liberally  with  a  comrade  in  the 
adjoining  porch  as  hungry,  if  not  so  adventurous,  as  him- 
self. The  exasperated  Bo  brought  him  into  the  house 
with  the  intention  of  inflicting  on  him  some  terrible 
punishment,  such  as  solitary  confinement  for  the  night, 
or  a  hint  to  his  master  that  he  deserved  the  rod. 
Under  the  gaslight,  his  pinched  face  and  lank  stomach 
softened  her  wrath.  When  the  song  was  ended  and 
the  doors  were  thrown  open,  she  announced,  holding 
him  by  the  collar  between  finger  and  thumb,  her  coun- 
tenance half-way  betwixt  tragedy  and  comedy,  — 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  here  is,  or  are,  I  don't  know 
which  is  grammatically  correct,  the  refreshments." 


THE  EPHEMERAL.  131 

The  boy,  whose  mouth  was  full,  was  so  terrified  that 
he  could  only  full  on  his  knees  and  sob,  — - 

"  De  things  smelt  so  good,  I  could  n't  help  it.  I  was 
so  hon-hongry." 

The  unexpected  performance  was  greeted  by  laughter 
80  general  and  good-humored  that  the  culprit  burst 
into  tears  of  relief.  He  was  evidently  half-starved, 
and  the  company  were  glad  on  the  whole  that  he  had 
had  a  good  meal.  Giving  up  to  others  less  well  off  had 
come  to  be  such  a  condition  of  life  that  it  was  never  a 
surprise  and  rarely  a  disappointment. 

Albion,  who  had  an  English  appetite,  which  like 
everything  English  is  the  best  in  the  world  and  never 
fails  to  come  to  time,  was  disposed  to  grumble. 

"  The  black  imp  deserves  thirty-nine  lashes." 

"  His  excuse  was  a  pretty  old  one,"  laughed  St.  Maur. 
"  Very  like  the  one  Eve  gave  for  eating  the  apple ;  it 
seemed  so  good  for  food." 

"  Yes,  and  a  pretty  mess  she  made  of  things !  " 
growled  Albion. 

"  Let  us  have  a  reel !  "  cried  Bo,  the  boy  having 
scrambled  out  of  the  room  and  performed  the  acrobatic 
feat  of  getting  over  the  porch  again  ;  "  we  must  have 
somethmg  in  place  of  a  supper." 

"  A  reel  instead  of  a  meal,  humph  !  "  said  Albion. 

"  Is  a  reel  quite  orthodox  for  a  salon,  Bo  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Disney. 

"  It  will  do  for  an  American  variety.  Exotics  al- 
ways change  a  little  on  transplanting,"  said  Bo,  getting 
the  company  into  shape  for  a  reel. 

One  luxury  that  Mrs.  Disney  had  saved  from  her 
household  wreck  was  a  piano,  and  she  needed  no  per- 


132  JACK  HORNER 

suasion  to  fill  up  the  awkward  space  made  by  the  loss 
of  refreshments  with  a  reel. 

She  was  so  brilliant  a  performer  as  to  lend  to  dance 
music  an  additional  incentive.  The  quick  notes  fell 
from  her  fingers  in  sparkling  showers,  like  the  phos- 
phorescent rain  that  sometimes  follows  the  dip  of  oars. 
They  set  young  blood  in  motion  as  the  moon  moves 
the  tide.  There  foi-med  in  a  moment  a  great  circle  of 
young  men  and  women,  whose  lightly  clasped  hands  and 
eager  feet  swayed  and  balanced  to  the  rhythm  of  the 
tune.  Lissom  girls,  with  heightened  color  and  beaming 
eyes,  kept  step  and  pulse  beat  with  strong-limbed  young 
men,  who  danced  with  their  might. 

St.  Maur,  who  had  never  taken  part  in  anything  so 
unconventional,  stood  in  a  doorway  near  the  head  of 
the  hall  stairs,  looking  on.  He  watched  Bo's  move- 
ments with  his  near-sighted  trick  of  half-closed  eyes, 
which  concentrated  their  fire,  and  made  them  seem  to 
Bo  to  shine  like  tropical  stars.  She  was  under  their 
subtle  influence,  as  with  flying  feet  she  went  through 
the  figures  of  the  dance.  She  never  looked  at  him,  and 
yet  never  lost  sight  of  him.  She  felt  and  danced  like 
a  winged  creature.  In  the  perfection  of  phj^sical  vigor 
and  activity,  vrith  as  little  sense  of  fatigue  as  a  disem- 
bodied spirit,  life  seemed  at  its  best  under  the  spell  of 
those  admiring  eyes.  Once  she  perceived  that  their  at- 
tention was  diverted  from  her.  A  man  she  had  never 
seen  before  came  up  the  hall  stairs,  and  touching 
St.  Maur  on  the  shoulder  said  a  few  words  to  him. 
She  felt  rather  than  saw  his  countenance  change  ;  a 
cloud  passed  over  the  tropical  stars. 

The  ring  of  dancers  whuled  round  and  round  to  the 


TUE  EPHEMERAL.  133 

rollicking  music  like  an  eddy  of  leaves  in  a  high  wind. 
St.  Maur,  watching  his  ojiportunity,  laid  his  hand  on  the 
arm  of  one  of  the  young  men  rushing  swiftly  past. 

The  dancer,  in  the  wildest  spirits,  flushed  and  breath- 
less, at  once  dropped  out  of  the  ring,  which  closed  up 
and  whirled  on.  The  vigilant  Bo  saw  him  snatch  up 
his  cap  and  plunge  downstairs  more  eagerly  than  he 
had  danced.  St.  Maur  shifted  his  position.  It  was 
not  long  before  another  man  had  gone  the  same  way. 
One  by  one  the  masculine  element  of  the  salon  was 
eliminated,  until  the  depletion  was  so  great  as  to  be 
noticeable.  Then  a  hush  fell  on  all  spirits.  Every- 
body felt  that  this  meant  something,  although  a  panic 
had  been  admirably  avoided.  The  music  ceased.  The 
reel  broke  up  into  knots  of  anxious-eyed  girls.  At 
last,  Albion  was  the  only  man  left.  He  gnawed  his 
mustache,  and  looked  very  much  out  of  humor  at  the 
turn  things  had  taken. 

'•  Where  have  all  the  men  gone  ?  What  has  hap- 
pened? "  asked  Mrs.  Disney,  trying  not  to  look  fright- 
ened. 

"  Another  demonstration  on  Richmond,  I  suppose," 
said  Albion.  "  Jeb  Stuart  has  taught  the  enemy  to 
make  raids,  and  we  shall  never  have  any  peace  with 
'those  people  '  swooping  down  on  the  town." 

"  I  think  we  disposed  of  '  those  people  '  very  sum- 
marily last  time,"  with  sph-it. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  it  is  n't  that  they  do  so  much  damage," 
Albion  hastened  to  say,  "  but  that  they  upset  one's 
nerves.  Nothing,  not  even  a  salon,  comes  to  a  natural 
conclusion.  Everything,"  waving  his  hand  round  the 
manless  room,  "  ends  in  a  dissolving  view." 


XV. 

ALAS,    POOR   GHOST  ! 

The  feminine  portion  of  the  salon  found  its  way 
home  that  night  as  best  it  could  without  masculine 
escort.  Bands  of  girls  hurried  through  the  streets  like 
pretty  flocks  without  shepherds.  The  town  was  greatly 
astir.  Old  men  with  obsolete  nmskets  were  coming  out 
of  their  houses  with  the  trembling  gait  of  age.  Boys, 
shouldering  what  firearms  they  could  procure,  shouted 
with  delight  as  they  marched  away,  feeling  they  too 
were  going  like  Mai-lbrook  to  the  wai'S. 

Albion's  conjecture  had  been  correct.  A  raiding- 
party  of  the  enemy,  more  adventurous  than  the  first, 
had  penetrated  still  nearer  the  town,  and  were  even 
now  having  a  sharp  encounter  with  Confederates  at 
Laburnum,  not  two  miles  away.  Very  few  people  went 
to  bed  that  night.  Every  available  white  man  armed 
for  the  emergency.  Every  woman  made  ready  to  be- 
come a  nurse  at  a  moment's  notice.  Ambulances  were 
in  motion,  and  now  and  again  wounded  men  were 
brought  in  from  the  field.  The  ghastly  scenes  of  dead 
and  dying  were  begun  over  again. 

Mrs.  Key,  who  had  been  present  at  the  salon  only 
to  please  her  friends,  the  Disneys.  remained  a  short 
time,  and  went  home  early.  Unlike  most  young  people 
of  the  period,  she  had  no  desire  for  gayety.    Any  effort 


ALAS,  POOR    GHOST!  135 

in  that  direction  made  it  all  the  more  difficult  to  pre- 
serve an  equable  cheerfulness.  To  others,  it  was  evi- 
dently a  relaxation,  but  she  could  never  lose  sight  of 
the  incongruity  of  gayety  with  war.  She  looked  par- 
ticularly well  that  evening.  Her  dress  had  some  at- 
tempt at  ornament  in  compliment  to  Bo's  festivity.  Her 
throat  and  wrists  shone  white  as  milk  through  meshes 
of  gauze  that  edged  her  black  gown.  Her  hair  was 
arranged  with  its  usual  simplicity  but  for  a  turn  which 
brought  it  as  a  sort  of  coronal  above  her  low  brow. 
She  gave  her  own  expression  to  dress,  and  these  few 
touches  sufficed  to  make  it  distinguished  above  others. 
As  she  crossed  the  room  to  leave  the  salon,  Albion 
ejaculated  under  his  breath  to  Gaul,  "  Jove !  How  she 
walks  I  " 

"  Who  ?  where  ?  "  stammered  St.  Maur,  whose  eyes 
were  in  the  other  room  furtively  following  a  dancing 
figure. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Key.  She  's  gone  now.  I  suppose  there 
have  been  women  who  walked  well  since  the  time  of 
Eve,  but  I  have  never  seen  a  finer  gait.  Firm  and 
majestic  below  the  waist,  lithe  and  supple  above." 

"  That  is  true,"  agreed  St.  Maur,  recapturing  his  eyes 
and  thoughts.  "  By  the  way,  most  American  women 
wriggle,  and,  if  you  will  pardon  me,  English  women  are 
apt  to  stalk." 

"  Humph  !  "  grunted  Albion,  "  what  about  Frencli 
women  ?  " 

"  Speaking  of  Mrs.  Key,"  continued  St.  Maur,  ignor- 
ing his  countrywomen,  ''  she  always  reminds  me  of  the 
magnolia,  or  some  superb  white  flower,  the  very  fineness 
of  whose  texture  suggests  delightful  fragrance." 


136  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Gad  !  Gaul,  you  are  poetical." 

Madelalne  was  glad  to  get  away  from  the  music  and 
dancing.  She  had  felt  all  day  a  sense  of  foreboding 
more  oppressive  than  the  usual  expectant  anxiety.  On 
her  way  home,  she  observed  the  growing  commotion  in 
the  streets.  The  uneasy  excitement  of  the  people 
found  an  echo  in  her  heart.  With  a  vague  feeling  of 
general  unrest,  she  was  conscious  of  a  definite  object  of 
anxiety.  She  had  been  thinking  all  day  of  Hugh 
Dallas.  She  thought  much  of  him  at  all  times,  but 
this  day  his  memory  haunted  her  with  the  gentle  per- 
sistence of  a  grieved  wraith. 

Madelaine's  sentiments  towards  Hugh  were  peculiar. 
She  loved  him  loyally  and  well,  although  she  never 
disguised  from  herself  that  her  love  was  of  the  quality 
of  friendship,  —  supreme  friendship,  if  you  will,  but  still 
friendship.  This  did  not  make  her  allegiance  less  strong 
and  tender.  A  passionate  regret  that  she  could 
not  love  him  as  he  deserved  made  it  more  so.  She 
felt  that  she  was  as  much  his  as  if  the  prevented  mar- 
riage had  taken  place.  A  sense  of  deficiency  in  one 
respect  made  her  loyalty  the  strongest  and  most  del- 
icate sentiment.  To  be  so  loved  was  worth  the  ut- 
most passion  of  most  women.  The  genuineness  of  her 
affection  saved  her  from  supposing  that  she  wronged 
Dallas.  She  believed  that  she  gave  him  all  the  affec- 
tion of  which  she  was  capable  ;  that  it  was  impossible 
for  her  to  love  as  she  had  once  loved. 

When  she  got  home  that  night,  she  found  that  her 
aunt  and  all  the  servants  except  Daniel  had  gone  to 
bed  before  the  alarm.  Larry  was  out  with  the  reserves 
again.     Madelaine  decided  to  let  her  aunt  sleep  while 


ALAS,   POOR   GHOST!  137 

she  kept  watch.  She  intended  to  change  her  dress  for 
a  working  one,  but  while  she  stood  before  the  parlor 
fire,  cloak  and  hood  over  her  arm,  she  was  startled  by 
a  scuffling  noise  at  the  front  door.  Before  she  could 
conjecture  what  it  meant,  the  parlor  door  opened  and  a 
man  stumbled  in.  He  staggered,  swayed,  and  fell  at 
her  feet.  Behind  him  on  the  threshold  stood  Daniel, 
from  whom  the  man  had  broken  away,  and  the  negro's 
face  was  gray  with  consternation.  The  poor  fellow 
who  had  fallen,  a  soldier  whose  shabby  gray  uniform 
bore  the  chevrons  of  a  captain,  was  not  drunk,  but  ap- 
parently dying.  Dallas  was  so  vividly  in  Madelaine's 
thoughts  that  for  a  moment  she  felt  that  this  must  be 
he,  come  in  the  flesh  to  answer  for  his  spiritual  presence 
which  had  haunted  her  all  day.  A  glance  suflBced  to 
show  an  altogether  different  man.  The  line  of  beauty 
is  always  beautiful ;  and  there  are  some  gracious  forms 
and  faces  in  which  beauty  is  as  inherent  and  indisput- 
able. There  are  no  two  opinions  about  the  beauty  of 
the  Apollo,  and  there  could  be  no  disagreement  as  to 
that  of  the  man  who  lay  at  Madelaine's  feet,  —  Made- 
laine,  whose  soul  responded  to  beauty  as  her  eyes  to 
light,  her  lungs  to  air  ! 

Had  the  man  been  ugly  as  sin,  the  lowliest  private 
in  the  service,  he  would  have  had  her  pity  and  loving 
care  not  only  for  his  own  and  his  country's  sake,  but 
for  the  sake  of  Dallas  and  her  brothers,  who  might 
even  now  be  in  like  need.  But  beauty  makes  its  own 
strenuous  appeal.  The  young  soldier,  whose  strong- 
limbed  body  lay  prone  like  a  lusty  tree  cut  down  in 
its  vigor,  his  perfect  face  emptied  of  the  hues  of  life, 
his  curly  head  turned  aside,  consenting  to  death,  gave 


138  JACK  HORNER. 

her  agonizing  dread  lest  it  might  be  too  late  to  help 
him. 

She  did  not  stop  to  question  Daniel,  but  knelt  down 
by  the  young  man's  side  and  put  her  face  close  to  his, 
to  discover  if  there  was  still  breath  in  his  nostrils. 

"  Thank  God  ! "  burst  from  her  lips  like  a  great 
Te  Deum,  as  a  faint  respiration  brushed  her  cheek. 
"  He  is  not  dead,  Daniel !  "  she  cried  joyfully  to  the 
negro,  who  was  now  gently  removing  the  shoes  from 
the  blistered,  blood-stained  feet.  Madelaine  loosened 
his  coat,  and  placed  a  cushion  under  his  head.  The 
movement  caused  him  to  open  his  eyes.  He  had  blue 
eyes.  Their  expression,  as  they  met  Madelaine's,  was 
curiously  wistful,  —  a  half-bewildered  exj^ression,  made 
distinctly  intelligent  for  a  moment  by  a  look  of  plead- 
ing. It  sent  a  long-unaccustomed  thrill  through  Made- 
laine's heart.    Then  his  eyes  closed  again. 

"  Daniel,"  ci'ied  Mrs.  Key,  frightened  by  his  deathly 
paleness,  "  we  must  give  him  brandy  and  get  him  to 
bed." 

Daniel  nodded  wisely  and  continuously,  like  a  man- 
darin. He  knew  all  about  nursing  soldiers,  and  this  one 
needed  "  a  heap  o'  nussin'." 

As  Madelaine  J30ured  out  brandy  under  a  lamp,  the 
light  struck  sharply  on  her  new  ring,  the  one  Hugh 
had  placed  on  her  finger.  It  was  like  the  glance  of 
reproachful  eyes.  It  brought  back,  with  a  throb  of 
pain,  the  memory  of  Hugh  himself.  He  had  gone  com- 
pletely out  of  her  thoughts,  —  thoughts  still  agitated  by 
the  stranger's  blue  eyes.  Was  it  for  tiiis  that,  with 
prophetic  sadness,  Hugh  had  haunted  her  memory  ail 
day  ?     Nonsense !     There  was    nothing  like    the  con- 


ALAS,  POOR   GHOST!  139 

tinned  anxieties  of  Avar  to  make  a  woman  morbid. 
Witli  a  movement  of  compunction,  she  pressed  a  kiss 
on  the  ring  on  her  left  hand,  while  with  her  right  she 
held  the  glass  to  the  stranger's  pale  lips. 

Daniel  was  a  powerful  negro,  six  feet  two,  big  and 
brawny,  —  a  black  Hercules.  He  was  also  an  ideal 
nurse,  as  gentle  and  soft-tongued  as  he  was  strong.  It 
taxed  his  strength  to  get  the  dead  weight  of  the  uncon- 
scious man  upstairs,  but  no  nursing  mother  could  have 
handled  her  charge  more  tenderly. 

"  In  dar  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  paused,  panting  and 
shiny,  before  a  door  on  the  first  floor,  which  Madelaine 
opened. 

"  Yes,  this  room  has  the  sun.  He  will  do  better 
here,"  going  before  and  turning  down  the  fresh  covers 
of  a  great,  white,  plumy  bed. 


XVI. 


A   COMPLICATION. 


It  soon  became  known  that  the  stranger's  illness, 
whatever  its  beginning,  had  resulted  in  typhoid  fever, 
and  that  a  long,  if  not  fatal,  illness  was  before  him. 
Everything  that  could  be  found  out  about  him,  imtil  he 
was  in  a  condition  to  speak  for  himself,  was  discov- 
ered the  night  of  his  coming. 

His  name  and  rank,  "  John  Hardwick,  Capt.  23d 
Georgia  Infantry,  Augusta,  Georgia,"  was  written  in  his 
military  cap,  and  on  some  papers  found  in  his  pocket. 

Daniel,  who  had  been  the  first  to  see  him,  described 
the  meeting  to  Mrs.  Key. 

"  Miss  Madlin,  he  was  fotched  inter  town  in  a  am- 
berlance  fum  out  yonder  whar  de  fightin'  is.  Dar 
was  anoder  soldier  along  dat  was  shot  froo  de  lungs. 
Dey  was  on  dar  way  to  de  horsepitle.  De  driver 
'lowed  he  could  n't  keep  dis  one  in  de  amberlance  'cos 
he  was  out  o'  his  hade  an'  powerful  strong.  He 
wanted  to  git  out  at  ebery  cornder,  an'  when  he  got  to 
dis  cornder,  nothin'  would  keep  him  in.  De  driver  say 
as  how  he  could  n't  stop  to  fool  wid  him,  'cos  de  oder 
soldier  was  a-bleedin'  to  death.  I  foun'  dis  one  stag- 
gerin'  roun'  on  de  pabement  jes'  as  de  driver  was 
gwine  off.  I  seed  he  was  a  ill  man,  an'  I  holped  him 
in  here.     He  wanted  to  fight  me,  too." 


A    COMPLICATION.  141 

"  I  am  glad  you  took  care  of  him,  Daniel.  You  are 
always  good  to  the  soldiers." 

Next  morning,  Miss  Patty  was  astonished  and  even 
mortified  to  learn  that  she  had  slept  through  an  alarm 
like  that  of  the  preceding  night.  It  seemed  incredible 
that  a  skirmish,  in  which  ''  those  people  "  had  been 
again  repulsed,  could  have  taken  place  on  the  very  out- 
skirts of  Richmond  without  her  knowledge. 

The  skirmish  having  taken  place,  the  advent  of  a 
disabled  soldier  was  not  so  surprising.  More  than 
one  disabled  soldier  had  been  nursed  back  to  a  fighting 
condition  under  her  roof.  They  were,  eveiy  one,  dear, 
interesting  fellows,  according  to  Miss  Patty.  But  this 
one  was  by  long  odds  the  dearest,  most  interesting  of 
them  all.     He  was  so  good-looking ! 

In  due  course  of  time  came  answers  to  inquiries  dis- 
patched to  Georgia,  bringing  Hardwick's  credentials  in 
the  shape  of  grateful  letters  from  his  mother  and  sis- 
ters, commending  him  to  the  kindness  of  the  friends 
among  whom  he  had  found  a  home.  A  letter  from  the 
Colonel  of  his  regiment  gave  unstinted  praise  of  his 
qualities  as  gentleman  and  officer.  All  this,  with  the 
illness  in  which  he  hovered  long  between  life  and 
death,  with  the  apparent  chances  heavily  on  the  side  of 
the  latter,  made  him  for  a  time  the  chief  object  of  in- 
terest in  the  Pritchard  household.  Little  Jack  Horner 
had  a  rival  near  his  throne. 

That  first  night,  after  a  hasty  visit  from  an  over- 
worked army  surgeon,  Mrs.  Key  and  Daniel  watched 
by  Hardwick's  bedside  with  little  hope  that  he  would 
live  to  see  morning.  At  long  intervals,  he  would  open 
his  eyes  for  a  moment  with  seeming  consciousness,  and 


142  JACK  HORNER. 

they  always  rested  on  Madelaine's  face  with  the  plead- 
ing look  which  had  so  stirred  her  in  the  beginning. 
No  expression  of  the  human  countenance  is  so  touch- 
ing as  its  look  of  dumb  entreaty  when  the  tongue  has 
lost  its  power.  The  wistful  eyes  may  be  asking  only 
for  a  cup  of  cold  water,  but  the  imjDossibility  of  making 
themselves  understood  is  unspeakably  pathetic.  Made- 
laine  could  scarcely  keep  back  the  blinding  tears  as 
she  hung  over  the  sufferer,  trying  to  grasp  the  signifi- 
cance of  what  his  eyes  strove  so  hard  to  say. 

Was  it  gratitude,  or  a  message  for  home,  or  some 
deeper  question  of  the  spirit,  or  all  these  that  so  charged 
them  with  meaning  that  the  man's  soul  seemed  to  be 
burning  in  his  eyes  ?  Madelaine  trembled,  lest  the 
soul  should  escape  with  its  message  unspoken. 

In  the  watches  of  that  night,  she  learned  every  line 
of  Hardwick's  face.  Its  strong  contour,  its  delicate 
touches,  the  firm  lips  and  sad  eyes,  were  imprinted  on 
her  memory,  never  to  be  effaced.  In  the  days  and 
weeks  that  followed,  she  came  to  look  for  a  glance 
from  the  sad  blue  eyes  as  her  rewai-d  for  unceasing 
care  and  anxiety.  An  occasional  look  of  intelligence 
was  like  a  gleam  of  hope  in  the  long,  blank  hours  of 
wasting  fever.  The  big  sunny  room  which  Madelaine 
had  given  up  to  his  use  was  the  scene  of  a  great  strug- 
gle for  life.  Typhoid  fever,  whose  fluctuations  demand 
ceaseless  watchfulness,  was  never  better  tended. 

Hardwick  had  youth  and  a  good  clean  constitution  on 
his  side.  Shoulder  to  shoulder  with  these.  Miss  Patty, 
Madelaine,  two  doctors,  and  Daniel  fought  against 
death.  In  the  end,  they  conquered.  When  the  fever 
left  him,  he  had  been  plucked  from  such  nearness  to 


A    COMPLICATION.  143 

the  grave  that  his  nurses  rejoiced  as  If  a  new  man  had 
been  born  Into  the  world. 

Madelaine  was  so  untiring  a  nurse  that  Miss  Patty- 
was  afraid,  in  the  beginning,  that  her  health  would  suf- 
fer. But  so  far  from  being  injured  by  contact  with 
the  disease,  Madelaine  seemed  to  have  imbibed  some 
new  elixir  of  life  for  the  emergency.  The  sadness 
which  shadowed  her  young  widowhood  was  merged  in 
absorbing  interest  In  the  hand-to-hand  fight  for  the 
life  of  another.  The  Madelaine  of  girlish  days  came 
back  with  even  richer  fruition  than  her  early  promise. 
In  spite  of  tireless  activity  and  long  vigils,  she  was 
fresher  and  handsomer  than  ever.  Her  eyes,  once 
clouded  with  Introspective  grief,  shone  with  a  softer 
light.  Richer  hues  came  and  went  in  her  cheek.  Her 
figure  was  rounder,  her  steps  more  elastic.  Being 
withdrawn  from  a  morbid  contemplation  of  her  own 
sorrows  developed  her  in  every  way.  The  very  touch 
of  her  hand  seemed  magnetic  and  healing. 

"  Why,  Madelaine  !  "  said  Bo,  one  day,  "  I  never  saw 
nursing  agree  with  any  one  as  It  does  with  you.  You 
look  more  blooming  every  day." 

"  I  have  found  my  vocation  at  last,"  said  Madelaine. 
"  I  think  of  putting  on  a  white  cap  and  becoming  a 
regular  hospital  nurse." 

"  Besides  the  cap,  Madelaine,  I  should  advise  you  to 
put  on  a  veil,  or  you  will  do  your  patients  more  harm 
than  good." 

"  You  know  I  don't  like  levity.  Bo." 

The  doctors  appreciated  such  vitality  in  a  sick  room. 
They  acknowledged  that  Mrs.  Key's  nursing  was  bet- 
ter than  any  medicine  man  could  devise. 


144  JACK  HORNER. 

It  was  evident  that  her  patient  felt  her  influence  in 
every  fibre.  However  restless  he  might  be  when  she 
was  away,  her  return  brought  calm. 

Man,  at  best,  is  greatly  governed  by  his  sympathies 
and  antipathies.  He  is  altogether  under  their  domin- 
ion when,  as  in  illness,  his  reason  is  dormant  and  his 
will  prostrate.  His  nerves,  senses,  and  emotions  are 
then  paramount,  and  his  greatest  need  is  an  attendant 
in  accord  with  these. 

Madelaine  seemed  to  bring  healing  into  Hardwick's 
room  when  she  came.  This  being  the  case.  Miss  Patty, 
with  other  sick  and  wounded  to  look  after,  was  glad  to 
leave  her  to  watch  the  fluctuations  of  the  fever.  For 
a  time,  this  was  all  that  could  be  done  for  the  pa- 
tient, who  seemed  to  be  fighting  shadows  in  a  land  of 
shadows.  Finally,  he  came  back  to  life  and  the  things 
of  sense. 

Broth  began  to  take  an  important  place  in  his  exist- 
ence. The  wide,  fresh  bed  in  which  he  found  himself 
was  an  unspeakable  luxury.  The  cosy  room,  with 
softly  tempered  light,  was  Paradise  to  the  weary,  storm- 
beaten  soldier.  To  the  carnage,  smoke,  and  din  of  bat- 
tle had  succeeded  the  ministrations  of  gentle  hands, 
soft  voices,  and  noiseless  footfalls.  He  did  not  under- 
stand what  it  meant ;  he  accepted  it  without  attempt- 
ing to  reason  about  it.  He  was  much  too  weak  to  rea- 
son or  even  to  think.  He  lay  back  on  his  delightful 
bed,  and  let  things  evolve. 

If  a  great,  black,  shiny  giant  at  one  moment  straight- 
ened his  pillow,  and  the  next  was  transformed  into  a 
lovely  lady  with  the  whitest  hands,  who  offered  him 
nectar  to  drink,  what  concern  was  it  of  his  except  to 


A   COMPLICATION.  145 

enjoy  it  ?  He  slept  a  great  deal,  and  the  border  land 
between  sleeping  and  waking  was  neutral  ground, 
where  facts  and  fancies  met  as  equals.  With  the  per- 
tinacity of  a  mind  weakened  by  fever,  his  thoughts 
constantly  reverted  to  one  object,  which  was  not  the 
black  giant  nor  the  lesser  figures  that  crowded  his 
dreams,  sleeping  and  waking,  but  the  lady  with  the 
white  hands. 

One  day,  Mrs.  Key,  sitting  in  his  room  writing  letters 
while  he  slept,  was  startled  by  the  question  in  feeble, 
but  perfectly  cool,  rational  tones,  — 

"  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  where  I  am  ?  " 

She  looi.ed  up  and  found  Hardwick  awake,  regard- 
ing her  as  if  she  were  a  new  specimen. 

Wasted  to  a  shadow,  weak  as  a  nursling,  he  lay  back 
among  his  pillows,  a  wreck  of  his  former  self.  Out  of 
the  wreck,  his  great  blue  eyes  survived  in  their  origi- 
nal beauty.  No  longer  troubled  by  pain  or  clouded  by 
fever,  they  were  clear  as  an  infant's,  and  speculative  as 
those  of  a  man  finding  himself  helpless  in  a  strange 
place. 

The  object  which  arrested  their  attention  now  was 
not  of  the  fabric  of  a  vision,  but  a  wholesome  entity, 
the  charming  figure  of  a  young  woman  of  most  real 
flesh  and  blood,  with  a  face  fresh  as  Hygeia's. 

"  You  are  at  a  friend's  house,"  said  Madelaine,  as 
quietly  as  if  they  were  in  the  middle  of  a  conversation. 

"  A  friend's  ?  "  remaining  silent  for  a  while  to  digest 
that  suggestion  ;  then,  "  Is  the  fight  over  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Have  I  been  here  all  night  ?  " 

"  Yes." 


146  JACK  HORNER. 

Silence  for  a  while. 

"  How  long  have  I  been  here  ?  " 

Madelaine  looked  at  her  watch,  and  rang  for  broth. 

"  Do  you  know  you  have  asked  four  questions,  and 
you  are  limited  to  three  ?  " 

In  spite  of  an  indulgent  smile,  her  voice  was  so  re- 
straining that  Hardwick  did  not  dare  to  ask  who  had 
limited  him,  although  he  wanted  very  much  to  know. 

After  this,  he  began  to  get  better.  Then  one  day 
after  dinner,  Madelaine,  who  usually  gave  him  his  des- 
sert, brought  him  a  letter  postmarked  Augusta,  Ga. 

She  had  never  called  him  by  his  name.  Hitherto 
there  had  been  no  need.  Now  that  he  was  getting  to 
be  himself,  she  thought  it  was  time  to  give  him  his 
name  and  rank.  This  was  a  good  opportunity.  Play- 
fully reading  his  address  from  the  letter,  she  said  with 
a  smile  and  nod,  — 

"  Captain  Hardwick." 

Instead  of  an  answering  smile,  he  looked  greatly 
startled.     Madelaine  thought  he  was  going  to  faint. 

She  accused  herself  of  stupidity.  She  ought  to  have 
known  that  in  his  condition  anything  sudden  w^ould  be 
discomposing,  even  so  slight  a  thing  as  springing  his 
own  name  upon  him  for  the  first  time.  How  was  he 
to  know  that  she  knew  his  name  ?  She  tried  to  retrieve 
her  mistake. 

"  Forgive  me.  I  have  startled  you,"  she  said  sooth- 
ingly, while  she  moistened  his  lips  with  brandy ;  "  but 
I  have  brought  you  something  nice,  something  I  think 
you  will  like  to  have,  the  best  dessert  in  the  world,  — 
a  letter  from  home." 

He  kept  his  troubled    eyes  on  her  face,  while  she 


A    COM  PLICATION.  147 

spoke  comfortingly  as  a  mother  to  a  sick  child.  He 
put  out  his  wan  hand  for  the  letter,  but  he  did  not 
rally.  He  shivered,  and  sank  back  with  closed  eyes 
and  ashen  lips. 

The  letter  lay  unopened  by  him  for  a  long  time. 
Madelaine  wondered  if  there  was  some  domestic 
trouble,  such  as  so  often  makes  letters  from  home  a 
source  of  anxiety  rather  than  pleasure.  This  incident 
made  it  plain  that  he  was  in  no  condition  to  rejoin  his 
regiment,  which  he  spoke  of  doing,  when  he  spoke  at 
all,  every  day. 

The  truth  was  that  having  recovered  so  far  as  to 
understand  the  situation  and  note  what  was  going  on 
around  him,  he  seemed  to  stop  there.  An  apparent 
want  of  will-power  prevented  his  recovering  as  rap- 
idly as  his  youth  and  constitution  warranted. 

Once,  when  the  doctors,  who  had  attended  him  as- 
siduously in  the  beginning,  and  now  came  once  in  a 
while  to  see  how  he  was  getting  on,  were  leaving  the 
house,  Miss  Patty  said,  "  We  can  never  get  Captain 
Hardwick  well  unless  we  can  cheer  him  up,  doctor. 
I  can't  think  what  makes  him  so  sad." 

The  doctors  exchanged  a  glance.  Madelaine,  who 
was  present,  saw,  and  w^ondered  with  a  sinking  heart 
what  it  meant.  It  was  so  gravely  significant  as  to 
mean  something  serious.  Were  they  concealing  any- 
thing ?  Would  Hardwick  not  recover  ?  Did  his  mel- 
ancholy mean  insanity  ? 

The  elder  of  the  men,  seeing  Madelaine  intercept 
the  glance,  said  in  a  quiet,  professional  way,  — 

'*  You  know  it  is  a  feature  of  the  disease.  I  've 
known  men  to  die  of  starvation  simply  from  being  too 


148  JACK  HORNER. 

spiritless  to  eat.  You  must  keep  up  his  appetite  and 
his  spirits  too.  Medicine  can  do  nothing  more  for 
him." 

"  But  you  are  not  going  to  desert  him,  doctor  ?  " 
said  Miss  Patty, 

"  Certainly  not.  It  's  a  very  interesting  case,"  said 
the  elder. 

"Yes,  in  some  respects  the  first  that  has  come 
under  my  ohservation.  I  shall  not  lose  sight  of  him," 
promised  the  other. 

Dejected  as  Hardvvick  continued  to  be,  some  things 
interested  him  more  than  others.  Daniel,  the  black 
Hercules,  and  Afra,  the  cook,  sometimes  made  him 
smile.  His  face  softened  at  sight  of  Jack.  His  eyes 
followed  Madelaine  as  starved  birds  follow  a  ship.  It 
was  a  foregone  conclusion  that  he  should  love  her. 
Her  influence,  beginning  when  he  was  unconscious, 
increasing  through  the  long  days  when  he  was  strug- 
gling back  to  life  and  reason,  and  growing  stronger 
every  hour  that  he  saw  her  face  and  heard  her  voice, 
had  ended  by  steeping  his  senses  and  his  soul  in  love. 
His  soul,  born  anew  by  nearness  to  another  world,  his 
senses,  rekindled  by  returning  health,  were  fresh  and 
strong  for  suffering  as  for  passion.  His  unhappiness 
was  commensurate  with  his  love.  Mrs.  Key  could 
not  always  ignore  the  language  of  his  eyes.  They 
waited  on  her  movements  with  hopeless  devotion,  and 
there  came  a  day  when  she  understood  that  they  burned 
with  another  sentiment  than  gratitude.  She  could  not 
ignore  the  sentiment,  but  it  was  laid  upon  her  to  dis- 
courage it.  His  condition  was  now  such  that  he  rarely 
needed  more  than  a  servant's  care,  and  by  exchanging 


A    COMPLICATIOX.  149 

duties  with  Miss  Patty  she  gradually  withdi-ew  her  at- 
tendance. But  the  pain  with  which  his  eyes  thrilled 
her  lingered  as  the  sting  of  the  honey  bee  when  the 
dart  is  extracted. 

She  wrote  often  to  Dallas  at  this  time,  giving  him 
news  of  events  at  the  capital,  telling  him  of  her  home 
life,  the  young  Georgian  and  the  progress  of  his  ill- 
ness, Jack's  growth  in  size  and  beauty,  in  fact  every- 
thing that  could  enliven  the  monotony  of  camp  life. 
Every  day  she  received  from  him  a  few  lines  of  love 
and  gratitude. 

It  was  about  this  time,  too,  that  she  began  to  take 
Jack  with  her  on  the  rare  occasions  when  she  went  to 
see  Hardwick.  The  boy's  bubbling  spirits  interested 
him  more  than  anything,  except  Madelaine  herself,  and 
interest  of  the  lighter  sort  was  what  he  most  needed. 

"  Miss  Madlin,  dat  ar  baby  is  better  physic  for  a 
man  what's  low  down  dan  carster  oil,"  had  been 
Daniel's  prescription. 

One  day  when  Madelaine  was  leaving  Hardwick's 
room,  he  ventured  to  say,  — 

"  Mrs.  Key,  you  do  not  come  to  see  me  often  now." 

"You  are  getting  on  so  well,  you  do  not  need  a 
nurse,"  she  answered  cheerfully. 

"  Am  I  getting  on  well  ?  "  wearily  ;  *'  then  it  's  time 
for  me  to  be  getting  back  to  the  army." 

"  Oh,  not  well  enough  for  that,"  quickly. 

"  A  half  well  man  will  do  for  food  for  powder." 

"  It  takes  a  wholly  well  man  for  forced  marches 
and  bivouacking,"  decisively. 

Hardwick,  to  whom  her  word  was  sweetest  law,  was 
silent. 


150  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Must  you  go  away  now  ?  "  he  asked  presently, 
with  the  appealing  expression  in  his  eyes  which  always 
moved  her.  It  reminded  her  of  the  look  of  a  child 
deprecating  merited  punishment,  and  she  thought  how 
hard  it  would  be  to  punish  a  creature  with  such  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  must  be  going,"  looking  at  her  watch.  "  I 
have  an  engagement  presently." 

"  Before  you  go  may  I  ask  you  a  favor  ?  "  flushing 
with  eai-nestness. 

"  You  ought  to  be  sure  of  that." 

"  It  is  to  ask  you  to  listen  while  I  tell  you  something, 
and  to  forgive  me  if  I  grieve  you,"  he  continued,  with 
burning  eyes  and  a  feverish  spot  on  either  cheek. 

"  You  had  better  wait  until  you  are  stronger,"  said 
Madelaine,  in  great  trouble." 

"  I  shall  be  stronger  when  I  have  said  it,"  he 
pleaded.  "  The  effort  not  to  speak  is  more  wasting  than 
fever." 

'•  But  "  —  entreated  Madelaine. 

"  I  know  I  shall  die  if  I  keep  it  back  any  longer. 
It  fills  my  heart  to  bursting  and  rushes  to  my  lips 
whenever  I  see  you  "  — 

"  But "  — 

"  I  must  tell  you  I  love  you.  I  don't  know  how  else 
to  express  the  mighty  thing  beating  here.  Words  are 
so  poor,  but  I  love  you." 

"  Why  do  you  tell  me  this  ?  "  freezingly,  at  a  disad- 
vantage with  the  poor  fellow  in  whose  overwrought 
condition  feeling  went  before  judgment. 

"■  Because  I  can't  help  it.  I  do  not  ask,  I  do  not 
dare  to  hope,  for  any  return,  but  it 's  the  one  need  of 
my  life  to  tell  you." 


A    COMPLICATION.  151 

Hardwick  seemed  to  have  a  new  soul  infused  into 
him.  His  weakness  disappeared  while  he  told  his  love 
in  clear,  vibrant  tones,  with  radiant  eyes  and  glowing 
cheeks. 

Madelaine  did  not  dare  to  look  at  him.  His  voice 
made  her  tremble.  She  could  not  meet  his  eyes.  The 
sight  of  his  face  transformed  would  have  broken  the 
curb  with  which  she  held  herself.  She  looked  at  Jack 
playing  on  the  floor,  she  fingered  the  ring  which  was 
to  have  been  her  wedding  ring,  as  she  answered  in 
tones  chilled  by  self-restraint,  — 

"  You  know  it  is  not  right  that  I  should  listen  to 
you,"  indicating  by  an  involuntary  movement  Dallas's 
ring. 

The  blood  left  Hardwick's  face,  his  eyes  dilated. 

"  My  God  !  Mrs.  Key,  are  you  not  —  are  you  not  — 
Was  it  part  of  my  delirium  to  believe  that  you  were 
a  widow  ?  " 

Madelaine  flushed  crimson. 

The  unexpectedness  of  the  question  forced  from  her 
a  cry  of  pain. 

"  No,  it  is  true.  I  am  that  unhappy,  perjured 
creature,  a  widow  engaged  to  be  married !  " 

The  cry  unburdened  her  heart  of  its  secret.  Her 
engagement  was  a  bondage.  The  next  moment,  she 
would  have  given  worlds  to  recall  her  words. 

Hardwick's  countenance  changed.  An  indescribable 
look,  like  a  shimmer  of  light  on  a  snow  wreath,  bright- 
ened his  pallid  face,  sunning  over  at  the  corners  of 
eyes  and  lips.  His  glance  met  hers.  It  surprised  her 
thought  unclothed  as  an  infant  Love,  intelligible  as  na- 
ture's alphabet.     Their  eyes  lingered  on  one  another's 


152  JACK  HORNER. 

for  a  moment.  Madelaine's  had  never  been  so  un- 
guarded. They  poured  happiness  into  Hardwick's 
bosom,  pressed  down,  running  over.  Crimson  with 
consciousness  and  trembling  like  a  culprit  she  took 
Jack  in  her  arms. 

"  Good-morning,  Captain  Hardwick,  we  will  forget 
what  has  happened  to-day,"  she  said  coldly ;  and  he 
knew  that  she  would  not  come  again. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  her,  it  was  as  a  blank 
wall  raised  between  him  and  hope. 


XVII. 

BREAD   VERSUS   SENTIMENT. 

The  day  after  the  Ephemeral  brought  a  misfortune 
to  Boadicea,  —  a  misfortune  long  held  at  bay,  and  so 
grave  as  to  terrify  her  for  the  consequences.  Little 
accustomed  to  writing  before  the  \far,  signing  notes 
steadily  for  several  hours  every  day  resulted  with  her, 
as  with  not  a  few  others,  in  scrivener's  paralysis. 

It  had  been  long  coming,  but  she  would  not,  she 
said  she  could  not,  heed  the  warning  and  take  rest. 
Her  daily  bread  depended  on  her  salary  as  a  Treasury 
clerk.  Poor  Bo  had  suffered  through  all  the  stages  of 
swelled  joints,  inflammation,  intense  pain,  and  numb- 
ness without  complaint.  But  the  tears  came  when  the 
pen  fell  from  her  hand,  and  she  found  she  could  not 
write  a  stroke. 

"  My  God  !  what  is  to  become  of  us  ?  "  she  thought, 
remembering  her  mother,  as  she  looked  down  on  her 
helpless  hand  and  half  her  package  of  notes  unsigned. 
She  gulped  down  her  tears,  and,  complaining  of  not 
feeling  well,  asked  permission  of  the  chief  clerk  to  go 
home.  He  looked  after  her  keenly  as  she  turned  away 
from  his  desk.  He  wondered  what  could  have  hap- 
pened. No  mere  headache  could  have  so  changed  her. 
She  looked  as  men  look  when  they  have  received  sen- 
tence of   death,  —  life  and  its  hopes  put  aside.     To 


154  JACK  HORNER. 

Boadicea,  it  seemed  worse  than  death.  To  her,  inabil- 
ity to  work  meant  beggary.  She  hid  the  extent  of  the 
trouble  from  her  mother  for  that  day.  Mrs.  Disney 
had  found  much  pleasure  in  the  salon.  Bo,  believing 
she  would  have  no  more  pleasures,  carried  off  the  oc- 
casion with  spirit.  Besides,  she  wanted  to  accustom 
herself  to  her  paralyzed  fingers  and  think  what  was  to 
be  done,  before  breaking  the  news  to  her  mother. 

It  was  hard  to  give  her  a  stab  while  her  eyes  shone 
with  something  of  the  old  light. 

"  Home  so  early  ?  I  hope  nothing  is  the  matter," 
said  Mrs.  Disney  cheerily. 

"  Yes,  my  paw  is  knocked  up  again.  But  you  know 
it  has  been  pretty  bad  before,"  said  Bo,  holding  her 
hand  under  a  cold  water  faucet.  "  I  'm  giving  it  a 
douche,  and  it  will  be  all  right —  after  a  while." 

Then,  catching  a  glimpse  of  herself  in  a  mirror,  she 
plunged  her  face  in  the  basin  and  brought  it  up  drip 
ping,  to  account  for  her  quivering  lips  and  brimming 
eyes. 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  woi-ked  too  hard  over  our  salon 
yesterday,"  said  her  mother. 

"  No,  it  's  those  blasted  old  treasury  notes,"  an- 
swered Bo,  remarking  that  her  mother  called  the  salon 
"  our,"  and  trying  to  smile. 

There  was  one  person  from  whom  she  did  not  hide 
the  matter  so  well.  St.  Maur  came  in  the  evening  and 
brought  her  some  flowers.  Bo  received  him  in  the 
dingy  closet  the  people  of  the  house  called  a  sitting- 
room,  although  nobody  ever  sat  there  if  it  could  be 
avoided.  It  was  a  small,  stuffy  place,  furnished  with 
horsehair  sofa   and    chairs,   lighted   with    one    smoke- 


BREAD    VERSUS  SENTIMENT.  155 

stained  lamp,  and  decorated  with  bad  prints,  calculated 
to  make  a  man  swear,  hung  loj)sided  on  the  walls.  Its 
ugliness  always  made  St.  Maur  shudder. 

Luckily  for  Bo,  it  was  empty  now.  She  came  in 
wrapped  in  a  gray  shawl,  her  disabled  hand  hid  in  its 
folds.  Her  face  was  almost  as  colorless  as  the  shawl, 
its  brightness  washed  out  as  with  a  wet  sponge.  Her 
eyes  were  dark  pools  of  standing  water,  her  mouth  as 
pitiful  as  a  sobbing  child's.  She  had  often  looked 
prettier,  never  more  lovable. 

St.  Maur  was  startled  by  her  haggard  countenance, 
its  utter  misery  emphasized  by  an  attempt  to  smile. 

"  You  suffer  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  tone  which  brought  an 
overflow  of  tears.  Speaking  English,  he  used  the 
fewest  possible  words,  their  quality  more  than  com- 
pensating for  quantity.  His  intonation  expressed  more 
interest  and  sympathy  than  a  vocabulary. 

"  You  suffer  ?  " 

"  A  little,"  taking  his  flowers  in  her  left  hand  and 
hiding  her  brimming  eyes  in  them. 

"  A  little  !  Why,  your  dear  face  is  all  clouds  and 
rain." 

''  Elverything  is  all  clouds,  and  it  never  rains  but  it 
pours,"   wiping  her  eyes  and  trying  to  smile. 

''  Yesterday  it  was  all  sunshine.  AVhat  has  hap- 
pened ?  " 

"  The  worst  that  can  happen,"  throwing  herself  on 
the  hard  sofa  in  deep  dejection. 

"The  worst?  Ah!  that  is  not  kind,  seeing  I  am 
here." 

Bo  smiled,  in  spite  of  herself.  "You  cannot  help 
in  this  matter.     It  is  one  of  bread,  not  sentiment." 


156  JACK  HORNER. 

St.  Maur  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "True,  I  have 
not  too  much  bread.     Did  the  baker  fail  to-day  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  the  bread-maker  but  the  bread-winner 
who  failed  to-day,"  sobbed  Bo,  impressed  by  her  own 
tragic  statement. 

"  Dear  child  !  "  with  suffused  eyes.  *'  What  can 
you  mean  ?    Are  you  ill  ?  " 

Bo  shook  her  head. 

"  One  of  your  friends  hurt  in  the  raid  last  night  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Have  you  lost  your  place  in  the  department  ?  " 

"  Worse  than  that,  for  there  are  more  departments 
than  one  I  might  try  for." 

"  Do  not  tease  me,"  he  cried,  impatient  with  anxiety. 
*'  Tell  me  at  once  what  has  happened." 

"  I  have  lost  "  —  sob. 

"  Your  mother  ?  " 

Bo  dried  her  eyes  and  looked  up,  sobered.  "  No, 
not  so  bad  as  that,  thank  God." 

"  What  have  you  lost  ?  " 

With  an  expression  of  dumb  pain  in  her  eyes  like 
that  of  some  wounded  animal,  she  held  uj)  her  hand 
with  its  nerveless  fingers. 

"  I  have  lost  the  use  of  that ;  and  —  and  I  have  but 
one  right  hand,"  burying  her  face  in  the  arm  of  the 
sofa  and  sobbing  outright. 

St.  Maur's  brow  contracted  with  a  look  of  anguish. 

He  was  a  man  of  pleasure,  constitutionally  opposed 
to  tragedy.  To  his  credit,  he  liked  it  less  for  others 
than  for  himself.  Though  light  and  emotional,  he  was 
thoroughly  amiable.  He  could  weep  with  a  friend,  but 
he  was  scarcely  a  helpmeet.     No  longer  very  young,  he 


BREAD    VERSUS  SENTIMENT.  157 

had  hitherto  escaped  the  responsibilities  of  life.  He 
hore  to  human  nature's  daily  food  more  the  part  of 
flowers  that  decorate  the  feast,  than  the  piece  de  re- 
sistance upon  which  one  relies  for  sustenance.  Nobody- 
blamed  him  for  this.  To  look  at  him  was  to  under- 
stand his  character.  Handsome,  good-humored,  and 
well-bred,  he  was  a  man  to  charm  society,  not  to  found 
a  house  or  storm  a  breach.  But  the  flowers  that  deck 
our  tables  may,  under  pressure,  distill  properties  potent 
for  life  and  death  ;  so  a  man's  capabilities  may  never 
be  known  even  to  himself  until  submitted  to  a  crucial 
test.  Nothing  was  farther  from  St.  Maur's  intention 
than  marrying.  It  had  been  so  in  great  prosperity  ; 
it  was  more  so  now  that  he  had  nothing  beyond  a 
salary  as  clerk  in  the  War  Department.  Marriage  was 
in  direct  opposition  to  his  theories  of  life.  He  had 
evaded  the  entanglement  an  hundred  times,  for  he 
found  favor  with  women. 

But  at  this  moment  Bo's  pitiful  cry,  "  I  have  but 
one  right  hand  !  "  stirred  him  out  of  himself.  It  awak- 
ened the  long  slumbering,  passionate  chivalry  of  his 
race. 

"  Bo-a-di-cea,"  he  said,  in  a  low-breathed  tone.  His 
utterance  of  her  name,  charged  with  French  accent 
and  fire,  thrilled  her  to  the  tips  of  her  numbed  fingers. 
She  left  off  sobbing,  to  listen. 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him  with  shining 
eyes  and  parted  lips,  to  drink  in  the  music  of  her 
name. 

He  took  her  disabled  hand  in  his.  "  Cherie,  you 
have  two  right  hands.  While  mine  has  life,  it  is  for 
you."     His  tenderness  touched   the  very  fountain  of 


158  JACK  HORNER. 

tears.  The  words  were  simple  enough.  The  grace 
and  devotion  with  which  they  were  spoken  belonged 
only  to  a  Frenchman.  So  might  a  St.  Maur  of  the 
old  regime  have  dedicated  his  sword  hand  to  liis  sov- 
ereign. Bo  forgot  that  starvation  stared  her  in  the 
face.  In  sjnte  of  her  tears,  she  was  conscious  only  of 
happiness  that  flooded  her  senses  like  Danae's  shower 
of  gold.  It  was  the  supreme  moment  of  her  life.  In 
it  she  tasted  the  fullness  of  human  happiness,  but  it 
was  only  for  a  moment.  Then  she  withdrew  her 
hand,  which  had  lingered  in  his.  She  felt  that  her 
weakness  had  brought  about  a  horrible  dilemma. 

"  That  is  not  the  right  way  to  state  it,"  she  said, 
trying  to  look  cheerful,  while  her  voice  trembled  with 
the  agony  of  renunciation.  "  It  would  be  only  one 
hand  between  us." 

"  What  matters,  if  one  is  enough  ?  " 

"  If?     But  one  is.  not  enough." 

"  Cherie,  you  are  mercenary." 

"  God  knows,  it  is  not  for  myself.  I  told  you  my 
trouble  was  a  matter  of  bread.  This  war  has  mur- 
dered sentiment.  Don't  you  suppose  I  know  how 
many  meals  a  day  a  War  clerk  earns,  or  rather  how 
few  ?  They  used  to  be  three,  then  two,  now  only  one 
and  a  half." 

"They  can  be  divided,  dear,  if  you  will  share  them 
with  me.     Love  will  make  up  the  difTorence." 

"  You  know,"  she  went  on,  not  heeding  his  interrup- 
tion, "  you  go  to  bed  hungry  every  night." 

"  I  forget  it,  dreaming  of  you." 

A  blush,  wild  and  quick  as  prairie  fire,  overspread 
Bo's  face  and  neck. 


BREAD    VERSUS  SENTIMENT.  159 

''You  must  not  dream  of  me,"  she  stammevcd, 
shrinking  :i\vay  from  hini. 

"I  cannot  help  it." 

"  You — you  and  I  must  part." 

"  Why,  if  you  love  me  ?  " 

"Because  —  berause  I  love  you,"  making  her  con- 
fession boldly. 

He  caught  both  her  hands  in  his.  *'  If  you  love 
me,"  he  cried,  "  nothing  shall  part  us.  "We  will  share 
our  crusts  together." 

She  was  subjugated  for  a  moment.  It  seemed  so 
easy  to  be  happy,  she  was  so  happy  with  her  hands  in 
his.  But  she  drew  them  away.  She  went  and  stood 
by  the  fireplace.     She  felt  stronger  away  from  him. 

"  We  must  say  good-by,  dear,"  swallowing  her  tears. 

"  Are  you  going  to  send  me  away  like  this  ?  " 

•'  Don't  make  it  harder." 

"  If  you  will  not  marry  me,  why  will  you  not  let  me 
be  your  friend  as  before  ?  " 

"  You  must  always  be  my  friend,  but  not  as  before. 
It  is  different  now." 

"  It  is  the  same  for  me.     I  loved  you  then  as  now." 

"  But  we  had  not  spoken  of  love  between  us.  The 
barriers  are  broken  down.  Knowing  that  you  love  me, 
I  know  —  I  know  I  should  marry  you,  I  could  n't  help 
it." 

St.  Maur  laughed  bitteily.  He  scolded  and  en- 
treated to  no  pur])ose,  Bo  remained  firm. 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  he  asked,  in 
despair. 

"  God  knows." 


XVIII. 

BAFFLED. 

Miss  Patty,  coming  home  early  one  morning  from  a 
hospital  visit,  confronted  before  her  door  a  man  whom 
she  had  seen  hanging  round  the  house  for  several  days. 
She  was  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  him.  He 
was  a  rough-looking  creature,  whose  appearance  im- 
pressed her  as  that  of  a  possible  burglar.  She  felt 
some  timidity  in  addressing  a  person  of  that  class,  but 
like  most  courageous  peoi)le,  the  more  she  was  afraid 
the  more  she  persevered.  She  stopped  directly  in 
front  of  the  man,  who,  thus  thrown  off  his  guard, 
looked  the  more  dismayed  of  the  two.  He  took  off  his 
hat,  rubbed  his  unkempt  hair,  and  disembarrassed  him- 
self of  a  quid  of  tobacco  by  way  of  salutation.  Miss 
Patty  thought  that  near  he  did  not  seem  quite  such  a 
ruffian  as  his  appearance  and  suspicious  actions  indi- 
cated. 

"  I  've  seen  you  loitering  in  the  neighborhood  the 
last  day  or  two.  Do  you  want  anything  ?  Can  I  do 
anything  for  you  ?  " 

Her  manner,  though  distinctly  disapproving,  was  so 
temperate  that  the  man,  who  had  summoned  his  gruff- 
est air,  was  disarmed.  He  looked  at  her  steadily  be- 
fore answering,  then,  .apparently  satisfied  with  her 
countenance,  he  said  guardedly,  — 


BAFFLED.  161 

"  You  Idji  do  something  for  me,  if  you  want  to." 

"  If  I  can  do  you  any  right  service,  I  will.  But  your 
prowling  idly  about  in  this  way  looks  very  suspicious." 

"  Thar  's  a  heap  o'  suspicious-lookiu'  things  nowa- 
days," he  said  pointedly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  from  Jeff  Davis  down,  folks  that  call 
themselves  good  Confederits  have  spies  and  traitors  in 
thar  emjDloy." 

Miss  Patty's  heart  gave  a  great  thump.  She  re- 
membered with  a  pang  the  trouble  Mrs.  Manning  had 
gone  through,  and  wondered  if  it  had  come  up  again. 
The  poor  little  woman  wlio  had  lately  been  more  than 
ever  shrinking  and  self-effacing  ! 

*'  What  business  is  it  of  yours  if  they  have  ?  "  burst 
from  her  without  reflection.  "  Is  it  your  business  to 
spy  on  good  Confederates?" 

"  It 's  every  man's  business  to  expose  spies  and 
traitors,"  he  said  doggedly.  "  Besides,"  screwing  up 
his  shrewd  greenish  eyes  and  giving  another  rub  to 
his  shock  of  hay-colored  hair,  "  a  po'  man  earns  a  re- 
ward for  findin'  the  men  an'  women  that  give  informa- 
tion to  the  Yankees." 

Miss  Patty,  pale  as  death,  looked  round  to  see  if 
they  were  observed. 

"  Come  into  the  house,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "  We 
can't  discuss  this  matter  here.  A  whisper  like  this 
might  bring  death  to  an  innocent  person." 

The  man  chuckled.  He  desired  nothing  better  than 
to  get  into  the  house. 

"  I  "m  what  you  call  a  blockade  runner,"  he  said, 
when  Miss  Patty  had  him  closeted  in  her  sitting-room, 


162  JACK  HORNER. 

*'  an'  in  my  business  between  north  and  south,  I  come 
across  a  heaj)  o'  strange  things." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  but  have  you  come  across  anything  that 
would  make  my  house  an  object  of  susj^icion  ?  "  asked 
the  old  lady  hotly. 

"  Befo'  I  answer  that  question,  will  you  tell  me 
somethiu'  ?  " 

''  That  depends  upon  what  the  something  is,"  impa- 
tiently. 

"•  If  you  was  sho'  you  had  a  Yankee  spy  in  yo'  house, 
would  you  give  him  or  her,  as  it  happened,  up  to  jes- 
tice  ?  " 

Miss  Patty  turned  hot  and  cold,  but  she  answered 
without  hesitation. 

"  If  I  was  sui^e,  yes." 

"  All  right,  then,  I  b'lieve  you.  Some  time  ago,  I 
was  bringin'  an  odd  lot  of  things  from  folks  on  the 
other  side  of  the  blockade  to  tliar  friends  on  this,  an' 
I  foun'  among  'em  a  letter  from  a  Yankee  to  a  woman 
in  Richmond,  thankin'  her  for  vallible  information  an' 
askin'  for  mo'.     How  's  that  ?  " 

"■  That 's  very  bad  ;  but  I  don't  see  what  I  've  got  to 
do  with  it.  And  the  Yankee  was  very  imprudent  to 
send  such  a  letter  by  you.  It  might  cost  the  woman 
her  liberty  or  her  life." 

"  Bless  yo'  heart,  the  letter  was  done  up  in  a  piece  o' 
sweet-scented  soap,  that  looked  so  innercent,  I  'd  never 
a'  known  thar  was  anj^thing  in  it  but  for  an  accident." 

"  But  what  has  all  this  got  to  do  with  your  hanging 
around  my  house  ?  "  sharply. 

The  man  chuckled  again. 

"  I  've  been  more  'n  a  month   tracking  that  letter 


BAFFLED.  163 

to  yo'  house,"  taking  out  a  great  leaf  of  tobacco  and 
biting  off  a  mouthful.  "  I  don't  b'lieve  you  've  got 
anything  to  do  with  it,  but  I  think  you  must  be  mighty 
easy  imposed  on,  'cos  the  woman  you  've  got  here  's 
been  suspected  befo'.  I  foun'  that  out  fum  the  people 
she  lived  with  befo'  she  came  here.  The  soap  was 
d'rected  to  her  at  thar  house." 

Miss  Patty's  heart  went  down  into  her  shoes,  or 
would  have  done  so,  but  that  according  to  a  not  un- 
usual combination  in  Virginia  her  shoes  were  very 
small  and  her  heart  very  big.  The  heart  overflowed  in 
a  tide  that  reddened  her  cheeks. 

"  Is  the  woman  white  ?  "  she  asked,  gaining  time. 

"  Of  cose.  Niggers  ain't  much  at  writin',  an'  tliey 
ain't  cute  enough  for  a  sweet-scented-soap  dodge,"  with 
a  gruff  laugh. 

"  I  've  only  one  white  woman  in  my  service,"  con- 
tinued Miss  Patty  slowly,  racking  her  brain  as  to 
what  was  best  to  do,  more  agitated  that  she  thought 
she  heard  Jack  at  the  Gallic  cock  business  somewhere 
near.  "  I  think  I  shall  ring  and  send  for  her,"  con- 
templatively, crossing  the  room  to  the  bell  -  handle. 
"  You  can  see  the  jioor  timid  little  thing  for  yourself, 
and  judge  if  she  looks  like  a  conspirator  or  a  spy." 

The  man  shifted  his  quid. 

'•I  dunno  how  it  is  with  you,  but  my  'sperience  is 
that  the  littlest  and  timidest  lookin'  women  is  up  to 
the  biggest  mischief." 

Miss  Patty,  being  a  little  woman  herself,  called  him 
to  order  with  the  largest  kind  of  look. 

"  I  beg  you  not  to  frighten  the  woman,"  she  said 
severely. 


164  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Humph  !  "  grunted  the  irtan.  "  They  say  every 
Conf ederit  has  a  pet  Yankee.  I  s'pose  this  one 's 
yourn." 

"  I  shall  put  some  questions  to  her,"  continued  Miss 
Patty,  ignoring  his  impudence  except  by  an  indignant 
flush,  "  and  if  there  's  the  slightest  evidence  of  her 
being  a  Yankee  spy,  I  shall  give  her  up  to  be  examined 
by  the  proper  authorities." 

"  That 's  a  very  milk-and-water  way  of  doin'  busi- 
ness. I  want  to  show  her  the  soap  with  her  name  on 
it  an'  the  letter  inside,  an'  see  how  she  takes  that." 

"  What  name  ?  "  asked  Miss  Patty  haughtily,  while 
she  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

"  I  must  see  the  woman  first,"  doggedly. 

Some  minutes  elapsed,  and  the  bell  was  not  an- 
swered. It  was  rung  again  with  a  like  result.  Mean- 
while, Miss  Patty  and  the  man  studied  each  other  in 
aggressive  silence.  Into  this  silence  there  was  pres- 
ently projected  Jack's  uplifted  voice  in  the  distance. 
There  was  no  doubt  about  the  sound  this  time.  The 
cheerful  cock  crow  had  given  place  to  a  naughty  bawl, 
and  it  kept  on  bawling.  To  those  familiar  with  the 
variations  of  a  child's  cry,  it  was  not  the  result  of  a  pin, 
or  colic,  or  fright,  but  of  temper ;  what  Afra  called 
"  cussedness." 

Miss  Patty  started  to  go  and  see  what  was  the  mat- 
ter with  her  darling.  Then  she  remembered  it  might 
not  be  wise  to  leave  the  blockade  runner  loose  among 
her  valuables.  She  wondered  what  had  become  of  the 
servants,  that  nobody  came  to  the  bell.  Doubtless  they 
had  all  rushed  to  see  what  ailed  Jack,  who  had  found 
out  by  this  time  that  he  never  bawled  in  vain.     The 


BAFFLED.  165 

household  was  apt  to  prostrate  itself  at  his  feet  on  such 
occasions. 

At  last  the  cook  entered  hurriedly,  tying  on  a  clean 
apron. 

"  Nobody  to  come  to  the  bell  but  you,  Afra  ? 
Where  are  the  others  ? "  asked  Miss  Patty,  greatly 
vexed. 

"  Dan'I  's  out,  de  maid  's  takin'  car  o'  Mars  Jack, 
an'  I  had  my  hans  in  de  dough  an'  could  n't  come 
befo'.  Miss  Patty." 

"  The  maid  taking  care  of  Jack  ?  Why,  where  's 
Mrs.  Planning  ?  " 

The  blockade  runner  pricked  up  his  ears  at  this 
name. 

"  Miss  Mannin'  ?  Oh  !  she  's  stepped  out.  Dat  's 
why  Mars  Jack  's  bawlin'  so.  Miss  Mannin'  she  jest  set 
him  down  in  de  middle  o'  de  flo'  an'  went  out  'dout 
tellin'  nobody,  an'  Mars  Jack  got  mad  'cos  he  was  lef 
by  hissef.     Miss  Mannin'  nuver  sarved  him  so  befo'." 

"  Damnation  !  "  thundered  the  blockade  runner,  in 
tones  that  seemed  to  rattle  the  tables  and  chairs,  and 
made  Miss  Patty  and  Afra  jump  nearly  out  of  their 
senses. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?  "  cried  Miss  Patty, 
in  a  weak  little  voice  intended  to  be  severe. 

"  Meaniu'  ?  Hell  an'  damnation !  It  means  you 
have  let  that  Yankee  bitch  git  away,  all  through  yo' 
palaverin'.  You  meant  it.  You  know  you  did.  I  '11  re- 
port you  —  I  "11  report  you.  An'  I  '11  set  every  man 
in  this  town  huntin'  for  that  Yankee  bitch,"  snatch- 
ing up  his  hat  and  striding  towards  the  door  in  a  blind 
raofe. 


16G  JACK   HORNER. 

Afra  had  recovered  her  wits  by  this  time.  She 
quietly  placed  her  immense  bulk  against  the  door  she 
had  closed  behind  her. 

'•  You  ain't  gwine  to  git  out  o'  dis  do'  tel  you  take 
dem  cuss  wuds  back." 

"  Get  out  o'  the  way,  you  black  devil,"  roared  the 
man,  maddened  by  being  balked  of  his  prey  and  his 
reward.  "  You  are  doin'  this  to  give  that  woman  mo' 
time.  Get  out  o'  the  way,  I  say,"  trying  to  hurl  Afra 
from  the  door. 

He  might  as  well  have  tried  to  move  Gibraltar 
greased.  His  hands  slipped  from  her  firm  rotundities 
as  if  they  had  been  buttered. 

Miss  Patty  stood  valiantly  trembling  in  a  corner. 
She  would  have  given  anything  if  Afra  would  let  the 
man  go,  but  she  felt  bound  to  stand  by  the  cook's  de- 
mand for  a  retraction. 

Afra  laughed  her  deep,  hoarse  laugh.  "  Mars  Larry 
boun'  to  be  home  presently  to  feedde  dogs,"  —  the  dogs 
and  her  master's  coming  were  fictions,  —  "  an'  I  kin 
wait  'tel  den,  thank  de  Lawd !  " 

The  man  was  at  bay.  Wild  to  get  on  Mrs.  Man- 
ning's track  again,  he  growled,  "  I  take  back  the 
words,"  flinging  his  retraction  like  a  bone  to  a  dog. 

Afra,  having  enforced  the  letter  of  her  demand, 
opened  the  door.  He  went  out  shaking  his  fist.  "  Damn 
you.     I  11  make  you  pay  for  this  some  day." 

"  La  !  I  don't  min'  yo'  cussiu'  me  ;  I  ain't  nothin'  but 
a  nigger." 

He  got  out  of  the  house,  leaving  the  reverberations 
of  a  slammed  door  behind  him. 

When  he  was  gone,  Miss  Patty  ambled  as  fast  as  her 


BAFFLED.  167 

not  over  active  limbs  could  carry  her  to  the  nursery, 
to  discover  the  truth  about  Mrs.  Manning.  She  found 
Jack  cuddled  in  the  chambermaid's  arms,  his  little 
bosom  still  heaving  with  the  ground  swell  of  a  spent 
storm.  Madelaine  had  just  come  in,  and,  taking  off 
her  wrappings,  was  eagerly  questioning  what  the  com- 
motion meant.  She  had  met  the  blockade  runner 
flinging  himself  out  of  the  house. 

Miss  Patty,  shaken  by  her  late  interview,  was  too 
overcome  to  talk.  She  sank  into  a  chair  and  listened 
to  the  maid's  account  of  the  matter. 

"  I  was  makin'  up  de  bed,  Miss  Madlin,  an'  Miss 
Mannin',  she  had  INIars  Jack  at  de  winder  showin'  him 
de  horses  in  de  street,  when  all  at  oncet  she  run  out  o' 
de  room  wid  Mars  Jack  in  her  arms  like  she  was  crazy. 
I  runned  to  de  winder  to  see  what  't  was  dat  sont  her 
flyin'  so." 

"•  And  what  did  you  see  ?  "  asked  Miss  Patty  and 
Madelaine  in  a  breath. 

"  I  did  n't  see  nothin'  but  Miss  Patty  comin'  in  de 
house  wid  a  po'  white  man  dat 's  been  hangin'  roun' 
here  lately.  Dar  's  so  many  beggars  dese  days,  an' 
Miss  Patty,  she  holp  so  many,  I  nuvver  thought  nothin' 
'bout  de  man.  But  Miss  Mannin',  she  's  sort  o'  skeery. 
She  said  yestiddy  she  did  n't  know  what  he  was  after  ; 
maybe  he  was  a  robber." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  She  did  n't  stay  downstars  long.  She  come  back 
almos'  d'reckly,  an'  put  Mars  Jack  on  de  flo',  and  den 
got  her  bonnet  and  shawl.  I  asked  her  whar  she  was 
gwine." 

"  And  what  did  she  say  ?  " 


168  JACK  HORNER. 

"  She  said  she  had  de  toofache  an'  was  gwine  to 
have  her  toof  drawed." 

"  Was  that  all  she  said  ?  "  asked  Miss  Patty. 

"  No,  marni.  When  she  went  out  de  do'  she  shook 
a  bow  at  me  and  said,  '  Good-by,  Lizy,  take  car  o'  de 
baby  tel  I  come  back.'  When  Mars  Jack  seed  she 
was  gone,  he  hollered  like  somebody  was  a-killin'  of 
him." 

"  Maybe  she  tvill  come  back,"  said  Miss  Patty 
meekly. 

Mrs.  Key  took  Jack  and  dismissed  Eliza. 

"  Yes,  darling,"  to  Jack,  with  no  especial  meaning 
only  general  assent  to  anything  he  would  like.  "  Aunt 
Patty,  you  know  I  always  mistrusted  that  woman.  She 
never  looked  me  in  the  face,  and  always  turned  red  at 
me." 

"  Yes,  dear,  but  I  never  knew  whether  that  was 
cause  or  effect.     She  did  not  turn  red  at  me." 

"  I  suppose  there  's  not  another  woman  in  the  Con- 
federacy as  much  imposed  on  as  you  are,  aunt.  That 
brute  of  a  blockade  runner  has  worried  and  frightened 
you  until  you  are  actually  trembling." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Miss  Patty. 

"  And  you  've  supported  that  sly  Mrs.  Manning  for 
years." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  've  adopted  this  bouncing  boy.  Jack." 

"Yes,"  recovering  in  a  measure  her  voice  and 
spirit,  "  but  you  ought  n't  to  call  him  an  imposition. 
You  know  he  more  than  repays  me  —  and  you  too." 

"  That  is  true.  Jack." 

"  And,  Madelaine,"  continued  Miss  Patty,  disposed 


BAFFLED.  169 

to  speak  up  for  her  proteges,  "  why  not  mention 
Captain  Harchvick  "  — 

Here  Jack  screamed. 

"  Did  I  squeeze  you  too  tight  ?  "  cried  Madelaine, 
full  of  repentance. 

"  Captain  Hardwick  is  no  imposition,"  said  Miss 
Patty,  winding  up  with  a  peroration.  "  He  's  a  hand- 
some, brave,  splendid  fellow  !  " 

Madelaine  bent  over  Jack  as  she  replied,  "  But  in 
helping  Captain  Hardwick,  you  are  serving  the  coun- 
try.    He  is  a  Confederate  soldier." 

"  And  I  adopted  Jack  because  I  believe  he  is  the 
son  of  a  Confederate  soldier." 

"  I  know." 

"  Madelaine,  I  think  you  are  not  so  much  interested 
in  Captain  Hardwick  as  you  were." 

Next  to  having  persons  turn  red  at  her,  Madelaine 
disliked  being  made  to  turn  red  herself.  She  hid  her 
face  in  Jack's  curls  as  she  answered,  — 

"  Captain  Hardwick  is  out  of  danger." 


XIX. 

NERVOUS   PROSTRATION. 

Mrs.  Manning  did  not  come  back.  She  and  her 
husband  disappeared  from  Richmond,  and  were  not  seen 
there  again.  Their  disappearance  seemed  proof  that 
the  woman  had  been  in  communication  with  the  enemy 
to  everybody  but  Miss  Patty.  She  would  not  hear  of 
such  a  thing.  She  believed  Mrs.  Manning  had  been 
unjustly  frightened  out  of  Richmond,  and  always  looked 
forward  to  the  day  when  the  affair  would  be  explained. 
It  was  a  sore  subject  with  the  old  lady  that  one  who 
had  been  an  inmate  ©f  her  house  should  be  suspected 
of  being  a  Yankee  spy.  She  believed  the  time  would 
come  when  Mrs.  Manning's  name  would  be  cleared. 
Meanwhile,  another  attendant  was  procured  for  Jack, 
and  when  the  first  great  excitement  had  subsided, 
things  settled  down  into  their  accustomed  grooves. 
The  boy,  boylike,  forgot  to  fret  for  his  pretty  nurse, 
and  the  rest  of  the  household  found  the  new  incumbent 
more  congenial  than  the  old.  Only,  Miss  Patty's  heart 
ached  when  she  thought  of  the  woman's  ingratitude  in 
leaving  her  without  a  word.  When  a  week  elapsed 
and  Mrs.  Manning  had  not  returned  from  having  her 
tooth  drawn,  Afra,  wisely  nodding  her  bandannaetl  head, 
said,  without  knowing  a  word  of  Shakespeare,  "  Dat 
ar  toof  o'  Miss  Mannin's  's  a  sarpent's  toof." 


NERVOUS  PROS  r  RATI  OX.  171 

And  Miss  Patty,  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  experi- 
enced how  sharper  than  serpent's  teeth  is  thanklessness. 
She  consoled  herself  that  in  her  house  were  still  a  Con- 
federate soldier  and  the  son  of  a  Confederate  soldier  to 
expend  her  sympathies  on.  Nothing  could  take  from 
the  satisfaction  of  helping  the  soldiers  of  the  cause. 
She  was  so  much  interested  in  Hardwick,  she  scarcely 
knew  whether  she  wanted  him  to  get  well  enough  to 
rejoin  his  regiment,  or  remain  longer  on  the  sick  list 
that  she  might  have  the  happiness  of  taking  care  of 
him.  Not  so  with  Mrs.  Key,  who  looked  anxiously  for 
the  time  wdien  he  should  be  completely  restored  and 
go  away.  She  had  not  been  to  see  Hardwick  since 
the  day  when  a  moment  of  feeling  undid  for  him  the 
work  of  weeks  of  self-restraint.  It  may  be  imagined 
she  did  not  think  of  him  less.  The  very  fact  of  keep- 
ing away  from  her  long  -  tended  patient  necessitated 
thinking  of  him.  It  was  impossible  not  to  think.  She 
endeavored  by  incessant  occupation  to  prune  the  luxu- 
riant efflorescence  of  thought  which  of  late  made  her 
dream  by  day  and  lie  awake  at  night.  Everything 
seemed  to  bear  upon  and  illustrate  her  condition.  An 
often-related  incident  in  her  father's  life  came  back  to 
her  as  a  parable.  He  had  once  crossed  the  ocean  ; 
when  half  way  over,  an  officer  discovered  In  the  hold 
of  the  vessel  a  smouldering  fire,  which  required  con- 
summate caution  to  withhold  from  the  knowledge  of 
the  passengers  and  ceaseless  vigilance  to  keep  under 
until  the  ship  reached  port.  Madelaine  likened  her- 
self to  that  ship,  carrying  something  which  she  would 
not  acknowledge  even  to  herself,  and  which  needed 
constant  combat  to  suppress.    At  times  she  was  greatly 


172  JACK  nORXER. 

down-hearted  and  depressed ;  at  others,  she  felt  as 
young,  as  jocund,  as  foolhardy,  as  the  boy  Jack.  The 
heart's  eternal  child  with  his  bow  and  arrows  warmed 
himself  at  the  fire,  and  beckoned  her  to  join  him.  The 
tension  was  becoming  so  great  that  Madelaine  at  last 
determined  to  cut  the  Gordian  knot.  She  wondered 
she  had  not  thought  of  the  plan  before.  It  was  as 
sunple  as  the  trick  of  Columbus's  egg.  She  sought 
out  her  aunt,  to  mform  her  of  her  intention  before  it 
had  time  to  cool.  She  found  her  at  her  desk,  looking 
over  accounts,  for  the  old  lady  was  treasurer  to  more 
than  one  relief  association. 

"  You  are  busy  ?  "  she  said,  touched  by  Miss  Patty's 
pale,  tired  face,  as  she  looked  up  from  her  book. 

"  Not  too  busy  to  attend  to  you,"  with  a  cheery 
smile,  seeing  Madelaine's  countenance,  excited  and  full 
of  purpose. 

"  Aunt,"  drawing  her  away  from  her  desk  and  tak- 
inp"  a  seat  beside  her,  "  you  work  too  hard ;  you  look 
tired  out.  I  wish  you  would  n't  assume  so  many  re- 
sponsibilities." 

"  I  am  a  little  tired  to-day,  but  I  should  n't  be  happy 
unless  I  was  at  work.  And  you  are  such  a  help  to 
me,  Madelaine.  I  did  n't  get  on  nearly  so  well  until 
you  came." 

If  Miss  Patty  had  known  her  niece's  mind,  she 
could  not  have  aimed  a  more  direct  blow  at  her  inten- 
tion. 

"  Dear  aunt,  I  'm  so  glad  you  think  I  've  been  of  use, 
because  "  — 

"  Because  what,  dear  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  guess,   dear  aunt,  what   I  've   come  to 


NERVOUS  PROSTRATION.  173 

"  I  hope  it 's  nothing  sad  ?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  '11  think  it  sad  ;  I  know  I  do.     But 
if  a  thing  must  be  done,  it  must." 

"  Tell  me,  child,  what  you  are  driving  at." 
"  You  know,  aunt,  I  've  been  away  from  home  a  long 
time  now." 

"  Madelaine  !  "  quavered  Miss  Patty. 
"Aunt,  you  know  I  hate  to  leave  you  and  Uncle 
Larry  and  Jack,  but  I  must  go  home  to-morrow." 

"  Has    anything  happened  'i      Are    you    needed   at 
home  ?  " 

"Nothing  has  happened  — at   home.     But   I  must 
go." 

"  O  Madelaine !  "  cried  the  old   lady  in  a  trembling 
voice,  looking  as  if  she  had  received  a  blow. 

Madelaine  was  touched  by  her  distress.     It  was  so 
unlike  her  aunt  to  give  way. 

"  Why,  aunt,  tliink  how  well  you  did  before  I  came." 
"  Yes,  but  old  people  miss  their  props  when  they  've 
become  used  to  them.     And,  Madelaine,"  — 
"  Yes,  aunt." 

"  I  have  not  told  you  before  —  I  believe  it  was  because 
I  was  too  proud.      But  I  was  so  hurt  —  so  hurt  "  — 
"  When,  dear  ?  " 

"  When    Mrs.     Manning    went    away     without    a 
word." 

"  The  wretch  !  " 

"  Oh,  not  that,  but  ungrateful.     I  did  not  know  how 
fond  I  was  of  the  little  woman." 
"  I  never  could  endure  her." 
"  And  now  you  are  going  to  leave  me." 
Madelaine  groaned  in  the  spirit.     Life  is  difficult. 


174  JACK  HORNER. 

Its  duties  cross  and  recross  each  other  at  so  many 
points  that  a  straight  line  seems  impossible.  She  was 
sure  she  ought  to  go,  and  yet  it  seemed  as  obvious  a 
duty  to  stay.  Her  aunt  was  suffering  more  than  she 
could  have  believed  possible  from  Mrs.  Manning's  de- 
sertion. Gratitude,  not  to  say  humanity,  indicated  that 
Madelaine  should  stay  with  the  old  lady  until  she  was 
in  a  degree  comforted.  But  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  go,  and  after  a  few  moments  she  said,  — 

"  Aunt,  it  shall  be  only  for  a  little  while.  I  must 
go  now.  You  will  trust  me  when  I  tell  you  it  is  my 
duty  to  go.  I  can't  tell  you  why  just  now,  but  you 
•will  trust  me." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,  but  you  w^ill  tell  me  one  thing : 
are  you  not  well  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  not  well.  I  "m  afraid  I  "m  going  to  have 
something  like  —  nervous  prostration.  I  can't  count 
on  myself.  Absence  —  that  is,  country  air  will  cure 
me." 

"  Then  you  must  go,  dear,"  said  INIiss  Patty  sadly,  as 
she  returned  to  her  desk. 

Madelaine  was  relieved  that  she  took  the  matter  so 
quietly  at  the  last.  She  went  back  to  her  room  and 
began  emptying  wardrobes  and  drawers  preparatory 
to  packing  her  trunks.  She  felt  better  already.  Reso- 
lution and  action  are  great  tonics.  She  worked  so  vig- 
orously that  by  dinner  time  evei'ything  was  in  readi- 
ness to  leave  in  the  morning. 

At  dinner,  she  found  she  had  reckoned  without  her 
hostess.  When  she  went  down  to  the  dining-room, 
only  Larry  was  there.  She  was  requested  to  help  to 
the  soup. 


NERVOUS  PROSTRATION.  175 

"  Why,  where  is  Aunt  Patty  ?  " 

"  Patty  is  not  well,  and  has  gone  to  bed,"  said  Larry 
gloomily.  Like  most  men  he  was  put  out  by  a  change 
in  the  routine  of  affairs. 

"  Checkmated,"  thought  Madelaine,  taking  the  head 
of  the  table  and  helping  her  uncle  to  soup.  "  I  did  not 
know  she  would  take  my  going  away  so  much  to  heart. 
I  must  stay.  Perhaps  it  was  cowardly  to  run  away. 
I  must  conquer  my  nerves.  Surely  with  an  effort  I  can 
think  of  other  things." 

She  began  talking  with  her  uncle  of  Bo's  misfor- 
tunes. 

A  servant  with  a  waiter  and  plate  came  to  her. 
''  Cap'n  Hardwick's  soup,  please,  Miss  Madlin." 

Her  heart  sank.  In  this  house,  how  was  she  to  think 
of  other  things  ?  Carefully  arranging  the  invalid's 
meal,  she  did  not  hear  her  uncle  asking  a  question. 

"  Are  you  dreaming,  Madelaine  ?  Three  times  I  've 
asked  you  how  the  Disney s  are  getting  on  since  Bo 
lost  her  place  in  the  department." 

'•  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  You  see  I  'm  not  accus- 
tomed to  the  head  of  the  table.  They  are  getting  on 
very  badly.  And  that  reminds  me,  they  have  some 
handsome  old  silver  to  sell.  Would  you  like  to  buy  a 
wine  cooler,  for  instance  ?  " 

Larry's  eyebrow  agitated  itself  as  he  smiled. 

"  A  wine  cooler,  when  we  've  discarded  wine  until 
the  Confederacy  is  established !  Is  n't  there  some- 
thing else  ?  " 

*■'  Yes,  a  cake  basket." 

"  Cake,  another  luxury  !  " 

"  Spoons  ?  " 


176  JACK  HORNER. 

Larry  chuckled,  and  his  eyebrow  disappeared  in  the 
fringe  of  hair  that  lingered  above  his  forehead. 

"  Spoons  have  been  unlucky  in  New  Orleans." 

Madelaine  bit  her  lip.  Her  uncle's  facetiousness 
did  not  amuse  her.  How  could  he  joke  about  the 
Disneys'  misfortunes  ! 

Larry  was  not  a  man  of  concealments.  In  the  next 
breath,  the  secret  of  his  gayety  was  disclosed. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Madelaine,  I  "11  take  the  wine 
cooler,  the  cake  basket,  and  the  sjjoons,  if  they  don't 
ask  an  outrageous  price  for  them." 

"  Uncle  Larry  !  "  ashamed  of  her  irritation. 

"  I  like  the  Disneys,  particularly  that  pretty  Bo. 
I  'm  glad  to  know  some  way  in  which  a  body  can  help 
them." 

"  Uncle  Larry !  " 

"  You  shall  be  my  agent,  Madelaine,  but  don't  buy 
all  the  things  at  once.  Bo  does  n't  know  anything 
about  money.  If  she  has  a  little  pile,  the  first  thing 
we  know  she  will  give  a  party,  a  salon,  or  some  such 
tomfoolery." 

Madelaine  smiled  ;  she  had  never  known  her  uncle 
to  be  so  keen  a  judge  of  human  nature. 

After  dinner,  she  went  to  look  after  Miss  Patty.  She 
found  her  aunt  in  bed  and  undoubtedly  unhappy,  which 
with  her  amounted  to  the  same  thing  as  being  ill. 

She  was  at  that  age  when  physical  and  mental 
troubles  so  react  on  each  other  as  to  be  scarcely  sepa- 
rable. Mrs.  Manning's  going  had  been  a  blow.  It 
was  as  if  she  had  lost  one  hand,  and  Madelaine's  in- 
tended departure  made  her  feel  as  if  she  were  going 
to  lose  the  other.     The  old  lady  succumbed  under  the 


NERVOUS  PROSTRATION.  177 

double  infliction.  Maclelaine  brought  back  her  smiles, 
when  she  announced  her  intention  to  remain.  The 
younger  woman's  nerves  were  braced  and  their  pros- 
tration postponed  by  an  effort  to  cheer  the  elder's 
drooping  spirits. 

A  few  days  later,  Madelaine  was  enabled  in  the 
most  unexpected  way  to  give  her  aunt  a  crumb  of 
comfort  in  another  direction. 

Although  the  two  nations  or,  more  strictly  speaking, 
the  two  parts  of  a  divided  nation,  were  for  the  most 
part  busy  cutting  each  other's  throats,  they  were  yet 
bound  by  ties  which  fire  and  bloodshed  failed  to  sever. 
Proofs  of  this  lay  in  the  personals  which  appeared 
in  the  newspapers  contrived  to  be  exchanged  between 
the  two  sections.  Every  day,  columns  of  pathetic  mes- 
sages, sent  from  one  side  of  the  bloody  chasm  to  the 
other,  were  scanned  by  eager  eyes  North  and  South. 
A  whole  heart  -  history  was  often  embedded  in  two 
lines.  In  time,  they  came  ingeniously  to  convey  so 
much  contraband  information  as  to  be  forbidden. 
They  were  in  full  swing  when  one  day  a  headline, 
"  To  Miss  P.  P.,"  in  the  New  York  Herald  caught 
Madelaine's  eye. 

"  That  might  mean  Miss  Patty  Pritchard,"  she  said 
to  herself,  without  really  believing  it,  for  the  family 
had  no  connections  on  the  other  side.  But  the  per- 
sonal went  on  to  say,  "  Please  believe  the  nurse  who 
left  suddenly  is  innocent.    Gratefully,  English  woman." 

"  This  is  undoubtedly  for  Aunt  Patty  from  Mrs. 
Manning  !  "  cried  IMadelaine  joyfully.  Had  she  found 
a  nugget  of  gold  she  could  not  have  been  more  de- 
lighted.    She  ran  with  the  newspaper  to  her  aunt. 


178  JACK  HORNER, 

"  For  me,  Madelaine  ?  A  personal  for  me  ?  "  cried 
Miss  Patty,  putting  on  her  spectacles  with  trembling 
hands.  When  she  had  read  the  little  printed  mes- 
sage, she  was  obliged  to  take  them  off  again  to  wipe 
the  glasses  blurred  with  tears. 

"  I  knew  it —  I  knew  it,"  she  cried,  giving  the  state- 
ment immediate  and  entire  faith.  "  I  did  n't  believe  the 
woman  could  be  so  ungrateful,  and  I  knew  she  was  not 
a  traitor.  I  hope  the  whole  mystery  will  be  explained 
before  I  die  !  " 

Madelaine  did  not  gi\'e  such  full  credence  to  Mrs. 
Manning's  personal,  but  she  was  glad  her  aunt  was 
comforted  and  the  English  woman  out  of  the  way'. 
She  was  glad,  too,  that  she  herself  had  decided  to  re- 
main, for  Miss  Patty  was  not  strong,  and  required 
looking  after  to  prevent  her  overtaxing  herself  for 
the  cause. 


XX. 

FOB   A   PIECE   OF    SILVER. 

After  Bo's  misfortune  in  losing  the  use  of  her  hand, 
she  remained  a  short  time  on  the  list  of  treasury  note- 
signers  with  the  hope  of  being  soon  restored.  As 
weeks  wore  on  and  restoration  was  every  day  postponed, 
she  resigned  her  position.  Since  then,  she  and  her 
mother  had  been  living  on  old  silver.  One  by  one, 
pieces  of  handsome  hereditary  plate  had  been  sold, 
until  now  only  a  christening  bowl  stood  between  them 
and  starvation. 

Bo  had  her  heart  griefs,  as  we  know,  but  she  kept 
up  a  brave  show  for  her  mother's  sake.  It  did  not 
bring  back  the  color  to  her  cheeks  nor  the  flash  to  her 
eyes,  but  her  spirit  was  indomitable.  She  was  appar- 
ently as  cheerful  as  before  the  little  rift  in  her  heart 
spoiled  its  music.  Her  right-hand  fingers  could  not 
yet  grasp  a  pen,  but  she  could  still  do  good  work  at 
scrubbing.  With  brush  and  chamois  she  burnished  the 
cherub  faces  round  the  bowl's  brim  until  they  blinked 
again.  She  was  polishing  them  up  for  the  market. 
In  and  out  among  the  traceries  ran  the  legend  in  Latin, 
"  Except  a  man  be  born  of  water  and  of  the  spirit,  he 
cannot  enter  the  kingdom  of  God." 

"  Where  did  this  queer,  heavy  thing  come  from, 
mamma?"  she  asked,  holding  the  bowl  at  arm's  length 


180  JACK  HORNER. 

to  get  the  effect  of  light  on  its  deep  indentations  and 
high  reliefs. 

"  Your  father  brought  it  home  from  Mexico,  after 
the  Mexican  war." 

Silence  for  a  while. 

*'  I  'm  afraid  we  sha'n't  have  much  silver  at  the  close 
of  this  war." 

"  If  the  war  would  only  close,  I  should  not  care  for 
silver,"  returned  her  mother,  with  a  sigh. 

"  This  looks  like  church  silver.  Did  our  troops  sack 
churches  in  Mexico  ?  " 

"  I  hope  not.  I  never  heard  that  they  did.  Your 
father  bought  this  for  a  song  in  the  City  of  Mexico." 

"  Well,  it  will  take  a  good  many  songs,  and  not  songs 
o'  sixpence  either,  to  buy  it  now.  Was  I  christened 
out  of  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  how  you  screamed !  "  smiling  at  the  rem- 
iniscence. 

"  Then  it  has  served  me  one  good  turn,  and  now  I 
hope  it  will  serve  me  another.  It  has  ministered  to 
the  spirit,  and  now  it  must  minister  to  the  flesh," 

"  O  Bo  !  your  remark  sounds  like  levity." 

"  I  don't  mean  it  so.  My  body  is  as  much  God-given 
as  my  soul,  and  to  keep  them  together  we  ai-e  obliged 
to  sell  the  silver.  Now  it  seems  to  me  like  spiritual 
pride  to  be  christened  out  of  such  a  gorgeous  affair. 
Maybe  that  is  the  reason  I  am  obliged  to  work  off  some 
of  the  old  leaven  now,"  rubbing  away  with  the  great- 
est amount  of  elbow  lubrication.  "  My  children  shall 
be  christened  out  of  "  — 

This  important  declaration  was  interrupted  by  a 
knock   at    the  door.     Bo  looked    up,  scared    lest    she 


FOR  A   PIECE   OF  SILVER.  181 

should  have  been  overheard  talking  about  such  mythi- 
cal personages. 

"  Oh,  it 's  only  Sambo,"  the  knock  being  followed 
by  a  knotty-headed,  damp-nosed  little  negro. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Sambo  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Pitcher  down  stars,  an'  say  as  how  he  want  to 
see  Miss  Bo." 

''  I  wish  Mr.  Pritchard  had  chosen  a  better  time," 
she  said  impatiently,  contemplating  her  ten  grimy  fin- 
gers and  chalk-whited  dress.  "  Maybe  he  has  a  mes- 
sage from  Madelaine.     Say  I  '11  be  down  in  a  minute." 

Although  Larry  had  some  minutes,  while  Bo  was 
getting  rid  of  the  grime  and  chalk,  to  map  out  what  he 
wanted  to  say  and  how  to  say  it,  he  was  long  in  begin- 
ning. He  turned  many  colors  and  uttered  manyahems 
before  he  got  started.  Bo,  having  no  idea  whither  his 
thoughts  tended,  could  not  help  him.  She  tried  the 
weather,  Madelaine,  Dallas,  Jack,  all  to  no  purpose. 
Her  thoughts  went  back  to  the  bowl  and  the  cheru- 
bim's noses  she  had  not  polished  to  her  satisfaction. 
She  wished  Larry  had  not  interrupted  her  work. 
There  were  the  grime  and  chalk  to  go  through  again. 

Finally  he  began. 

"  Miss  Bo,  Madelaine  says  —  that  is,  I  came  to  ask 
if  you  had — if  there's  any  more  silver"  —  tumbled 
out  at  last. 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  you  mean,"  cried  Bo,  grasping 
his  meaning  in  a  flash.  "  But  you  've  been  too  good  to 
us  already.  I  know  you  have  more  silver  now  than 
you  know  what  to  do  with,  and  I  won't  impose  on 
you." 

"  But  you  are  mistaken.     Madelaine  says  you  have 


182  JACK  HORNER. 

one  very  fine  piece  that  I  want  very  much  for  myself. 
Patty  has  appropriated  the  others." 

"  Did  Madelaine  say  what  it  was  ?  " 

The  suddenness  of  the  question  knocked  him  out  of 
time.  Pious  frauds  need  as  much  readiness  as  the 
other  kind. 

"  Well,  really,  I  don't  remember.  She  did  n't  de- 
scribe it,"  he  stammered. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Pritchard  I  "  pointing  an  accusing  finger, 
'•  you  see,  I  have  found  you  out.  You  came  out  of 
the  goodness  of  your  heart  to  try  and  help  us." 

Larry  fidgeted  with  his  hat  and  looked  very  much 
ashamed  of  himself,  but  managed  to  say  very  humbly 
and  apologetically.  — 

"  Well,  Miss  Bo,  I  hope  there  is  n't  any  harm  in 
that,  but  "  — 

"  Harm  ? "  cried  Bo,  with  a  lump  in  her  throat. 
"  Harm  to  try  and  help  two  poor  stranded  women  ? 
Harm  to  want  to  feed  and  warm  my  dear  old  mother 
who  has  lately  been  hungry  and  cold  ?  Oh,  no,  Mr. 
Pritchard,  that  is  part  of  the  divine  charity,  which,  if 
everybody  practiced,  there  would  be  no  more  tears  to 
wipe  away,"  winking  away  her  own  tears.  "  Don't 
think  I  'm  too  proud  to  accept  your  kindness,  but  you 
have  done  so  much  for  us  already,  and  there  are  so 
many  others  for  you  to  help." 

If  Larry  looked  ashamed  before,  he  was  utterly  hu- 
miliated now. 

Bo,  in  her  warmth,  had  risen  and  stood  before  him, 
glowing  with  the  excitement  of  deeply-moved  feelings. 
That  this  pretty  young  creature  should  stand  in  his 
presence  aU  tenderness,  gratitude,  and  tears  for  so  sim- 


FOR  A   PIECE   OF  SILVER.  183 

pie  a  thing  as  attempting  to  keep  her  from  starvation 
overwhehned  him  with  a  sense  of  disproportion.  It 
was  as  if  he  had  been  suddenly  sainted  for  eating 
his  dinner  or  some  equally  obvious  and  constraining 
impulse.  He  wondered  why  women  always  did  the 
unexpected  thing,  —  melt  into  tears  when  there  is  no 
occasion  for  it,  freeze  hard  when  you  intend  them  to 
melt.     It  was  exceedingly  inconvenient. 

''  Please,  Miss  Bo,  don't  get  excited  over  such  a  lit- 
tle thing,"  hot  and  uncomfortable  in  the  glow  of  her 
gratitude.  "  You  know  you  are  my  neighbor,  and  I  'm 
bound  to  love  my  neighbor  as  myself,  you  know ;  and 
you  know  I  would  not  let  myself  be  cold  and  hungry 
if  I  could  help  it,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  know  all  the  knows,"  smiling  through  her 
tears,  seeing  he  floundered  hopelessly. 

Her  smile  and  profession  of  omniscience  reassured 
him. 

'"  Then  sit  down,  won't  you,  like  a  sensible  girl  and 
tell  me  about  the  piece  of  silver." 

Thus  adjured,  Bo  calmed  herself  and  took  a  seat  on 
the  sofa. 

"  I  have  n't  anything  to  tell  except  that  it 's  very 
big,  very  heavy,  and  won't  suit  you  at  all.  In  fact,  it 
would  be  very  inappropriate." 

"  Could  n't  I  judge  of  that  ?  " 

"  No,"  shaking  her  head  positively.  "  This  is  some- 
thing there  can  be  no  doubt  about.  You  can  have  no 
use  for  it." 

Larry  was  puzzled.  He  rubbed  his  bald  head,  and 
wondered  what  there  could  be  of  silver  he  could  not 
use  except  a  woman's  tucking  comb,  which  would  not 


184  JACK  HORXER. 

be  so  big  and  heavy  as  Bo  described.  Curiosity  added 
piquancy  to  his  desire  to  purchase. 

'•  You  know,  Miss  Bo,"  he  continued,  "  if  it 's  some 
woman's  contraption  '  — 

''No,  no,"  she  interrupted,  "it  is  nothing  of  a 
woman's." 

"  I  was  going  to  say  if  it  was,  I  could  give  it  to  a 
lady." 

Bo  bit  her  lip. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  exclaimed  quickly,  *'  that  would  never 
do.  No,  Mr.  Pritchard,  you  can't  have  it  at  any  price. 
I  am  going  to  try  and  sell  it  to  a  church.  It  will  take 
a  whole  congregation  to  pay  the  price  I  expect  to  get 
for  it." 

Larry's  eyebrow  went  up  to  his  hair,  as  it  did  when 
he  smiled. 

"  Our  parson  says  the  congregations  are  poorer  than 
the  individuals." 

"  How  does  he  make  that  out  ?  "  blankly. 

"  He  says  they  are  o^gregations  of  poverty  ;  ho,  ho  I  " 

Bo's  persistence  stimulated  Larry's  desire  to  buy. 
Besides,  the  chance  mention  of  giving  the  silver  to  a 
lady  suggested  an  idea  that  irradiated  his  face  with  an- 
other purpose. 

"  I  don't  know  what  your  piece  of  silver  is,  and  you 
don't  seem  inclined  to  tell  me,  but  "  — 

"  Oh !  "  said  Bo,  disposing  of  the  subject  with  a 
flushed  face,  seeing  she  could  not  get  out  of  it.  "  It 's 
a  christening  bowl  and  "  — 

"A  christening  bowl  ?"  echoed  Larry,  his  bald  head 
showing  red  again.  "  Humph  !  and  why  should  n't  I 
want  a  christening  bowl  as  well  as  any  man  ?  " 


FOR  A   PIECE   OF  SILVER.  185 

"  I  supposed  you  had  been  christened  long  ago," 
with  dignity. 

Larry's  face  became  still  brighter.  His  new  purpose 
had  received  another  impetus.  The  difficulty  was  how 
to  state  it.  He  looked  into  his  hat  for  inspiration. 
The  contemplation  did  not  help  him.  He  raised  his 
eyes  to  Bo's  face,  paler  and  thinner  than  it  used  to  be, 
and  then  looked  at  the  hand  which  had  lost  its  bread- 
winning  cunning. 

"  Miss  Bo,  when  you  have  sold  the  bowl  and  spent 
the  money,  what  are  you  going  to  do  then  ?  " 

Bo  turned  pale.  This  was  a  question  that  gnawed 
like  a  rat's  tooth  at  her  heart,  and  which  she  tried  in 
vain  to  postpone.  Larry  touched  the  sore  spot  with 
unerring  aim. 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  caught  her  breath  as  she 
answered,  — 

"  I  try  not  to  think  of  that,  Mr.  Pritchard." 

"  Miss  Bo,"  shuffling  his  feet  and  fumbling  with  his 
hands  in  his  nervousness,  "  you  know  I  want  to  help 
you." 

"  But  you  don't  know  how  miserable  it  makes  me  to 
feel  that  I  'm  an  object  of  charity.  For  myself,  death 
is  nothing  to  it.     But  there  is  my  mother  "  — 

''  Don't,  don't  talk  like  that.  I  said  I  should  like 
to  help  you,  but  that  is  n't  half  what  I  mean.  I  should 
love  to  help  you,  but  I  'm  a  blundering  man,  and  don't 
know  how  to  do  it  without  hurting  your  feehngs." 

"  No,  no.  You  don't  hurt  my  feelings.  I  'm  rail- 
ing at  fate  for  bringing  me  down  so  low  when  I  'm  so 
proud." 

Larry  paused  and  gathered  himself  together  for  a 


186  JACK  HORNER. 

plunge.  His  breathing  was  hard,  his  head  beaded 
with  moisture,  as  he  said,  — 

"  I  know  one  way  to  manage  it,  Miss  Bo.  Do  you 
think  you  could  marry  me  ?  "'  humbly. 

"  Harry  you  ?"  gasped  Bo,  staring  at  his  wrinkled 
face  and  bald  head.  ''  Marry  you  ?  "  while  a  vision 
of  liquid  dark  eyes  mocked  her  with  their  beauty.  It 
was  as  one  drowning,  seeing  a  refuge  of  iron-ribbed 
rock  take  the  place  of  the  green  pastures  of  the 
mirage. 

"  I  know  it  's  very  dreadful,"  shrinking  before  her 
horror-stricken  face. 

"  Yes,"  dejectedly.  "  It  is  very  dreadful  for  people 
to  marry  who  do  not  love  each  other." 

Larry  clenched  and  unclenched  his  hands.  "  But 
/do  love  you^ 

''  But  I  don't  love  you,  Mr.  Pritchard  ;  and  if  I  were 
to  marry  you,  it  would  be  for  that  wretched  thing 
called  convenience." 

*'  You  know  iu  troubled  times  "  — 

"  Yes,  I  know  in  troubled  and  untroubled  times,  such 
things  are  done  every  day;  but  how  I  have  desjAsed  the 
men  and  women  who  did  them  \  " 

"  I  know  I  could  not  make  you  happy,  but  I  could 
take  care  of  you  and  your  mother." 

Bo's  face  reflected  the  agony  of  her  feelings. 

*'  I  confess,  Mr.  Pritchard,  you  offer  me  a  great 
temptation  to  do  you  a  great  wrong." 

"  Don't  be  so  troubled,  my  dear  child,"  pleaded 
Larry,  touched  by  her  misery.  *'  I  just  spoke  of  this 
as  one  way  out  of  your  difficulties." 

"  One  way?"  groaned  Bo,  swaying  back  and  forth. 


FOR  A   PIECE   OF  SILVER.  187 

"  My  God,  as  far  as  I  can  see  it 's  the  only  Avay !  " 
Then  noting  his  troubled  face,  she  burst  forth  hys- 
terically, "  But  I  thank  you  for  it,  Mr.  Pritchard,  on 
my  knees  I  thank  you  for  it.  I  shall  look  upon  you 
as  our  deliverer.  Every  day  I  pray  for  help,  and  God 
has  sent  you  to  help  us.  My  life  shall  be  spent  in 
trying  to  make  you  happy." 

After  a  pause,  she  sobbed  forth  afresh,  "  No,  no, 
I  can't  do  it !     You  must  give  me  time  !  " 

"Yes,  yes,  all  the  time  you  want,"  he  said  sooth- 
ingly. 

He  went  away,  leaving  the  question  open. 

When  he  was  gone.  Bo  dried  her  eyes  and  tried  to 
think  the  matter  over  calmly.  She  remembered  with 
a  bitter  smile  what  she  had  once  said  to  Madelaine 
about  her  uncle  making  a  good  "  Auld  Robin  Gray," 
and  how  absurd  the  idea  seemed  then.  With  the 
strange  impulse  that  often  forces  jests  from  broken 
hearts,  she  scoffed  at  herself. 

"  Yes,  we  are  getting  to  be  very  French,'^  shrink- 
ing from  the  word  as  from  the  touch  of  an  exposed 
nerve.  "  Mamma  agreed  to  a  salon  for  my  sake.  I 
can't  do  less  than  make  a  mariage  de  convenance  for 
hers." 

She  went  back  to  her  work  with  laggard  step  and 
miserable,  heart-broken  countenance.  The  sight  of 
the  christening  bowl  pierced  her  like  a  dagger.  The 
cherub  faces  her  hand  had  burnished  and  her  imagin- 
ation furnished  with  baby  smiles  and  dark,  velvety 
French  eyes  had  become,  all  at  once,  bald  and  gro- 
tesque with  an  old  man's  purblind  glances.  She  let 
the  bowl  fall  with  a  crash  and  took  refusre  in  her  own 


188  JACK  HORNER. 

room.  There  she  threw  herself  on  her  bed  and  buried 
her  face  in  the  pillow. 

"  I  can't  do  it !  I  can't  do  it !  Flesh  and  blood  cry- 
out  against  it.  God  does  not  require  such  a  sacrifice  ! 
If  the  worst  comes  I  can  beg.     I  ivill  beg  !  " 

The  hours  wore  on  while  Bo  fought  the  old  battle 
with  the  old  arguments  over  and  over  again.  Worn 
out  at  last  she  fell  asleep  with  the  decision  that  she 
would  beg  rather  than  marry  Larry  Pritchard. 

"  I  can  beg,  and,  Heaven  helji  me,  I  tvill  beg,"  was 
her  last  waking  thought. 

Late  in  the  evening  her  mother  opened  the  door 
softly  and  entered  with  noiseless  step.  She  did  not 
wish  to  disturb  Bo,  if  she  still  slept.  In  spite  of  her 
precaution,  her  presence  penetrated  the  girl's  troubled 
dreams. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  rubbing  her  eyes  and  peering 
into  the  dim  half-light  that  had  swallowed  up  the  room 
while  she  was  asleep.     "  Is  that  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear.  I  did  n't  mean  to  disturb  you,  but 
I  came  to  ask  if  there  was  any  bread  left  from  dinner. 
I  'm  so  hungry,  darling." 

The  feeble  voice  touched  Bo  as  no  other  sound 
could.  She  sprang  from  the  bed,  her  resolution  swung 
to  the  other  extreme. 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  laughing  with  forced  hilarity. 
"  There  is  a  whole  loaf  I  bought  when  I  was  out 
this  morning,  and  what  is  better,  I  have  arranged  that 
you  shall  never  be  hungry  any  more." 

"  O  Bo  I  "  exclaimed  her  mother,  clasping  her  wan 
hands  about  her  daughter's  neck  and  bursting  into 
tears.     "  Then  I  thank  God  !  " 


FOR  A   PIECE   OF  SILVER.  189 

When  the  weakness  had  passed,  she  found  voice  to 
ask,  — 

"  How  have  you  done  it,  my  child  ?  " 

Bo  braced  herself  and,  smiling,  said  without  a  break 
in  her  voice,  — 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  Mr.  Pritchard." 


XXI. 

FOR    jack's   sake. 

The  day  arrived  at  last  when  Hardwick's  patience 
came  to  an  end.  One  afternoon,  towards  the  close  of 
April,  he  determined  to  make  an  effort  to  get  out  of 
bed  and  go  downstairs  preparatory  to  going  away. 
Miss  Pritchard  and  Daniel  were  out  of  the  way  when 
the  undertaking  was  made,  and  he  persuaded  Afra  to 
assist  him  in  his  project.  He  had  achieved  the  greater 
part  of  his  toilet  without  too  much  fatigue,  and  was 
about  to  get  into  his  coat  and  trousers,  when  Afra,  with 
an  air  of  triumph,  opened  a  wardrobe  and  brought 
out  a  new  uniform  of  spotless  gray,  decked  with  the 
chevrons,  buttons,  and  braid  of  a  Confederate  infantry 
captain. 

"  See  what  Miss  Patty  done  had  made  for  you !  " 
said  the  woman  with  great  glee,  unfolding  the  military 
splendors  to  Hardwick's  dismayed  eyes.  The  sight 
seemed  to  overwhelm  the  young  man.  He  covered  his 
eyes  with  his  hands  and  tottered  back  to  the  bed. 

"  This  is  too  much  !  "  he  stammered. 

"  Miss  Patty  don't  think  nothin  's  too  much  or  too 
good  for  one  of  our  soldiers,"  cried  Afra,  steadying 
her  patient.  "  Jest  set  down  an'  rest  a  minute,  an'  I  '11 
git  you  somethin'  to  drink.  When  you  gits  inter  yo' 
new  uniform,  you  '11  cut  a  shine.     De  ladies  will  be  for 


FOR    JACK'S  SAKE.  191 

eatin'  you  up,"  she  added,  looking  admiringly,  as  if  she 
would  not  object  to  a  mouthful  herself. 

Hardwick  gulped  down  some  unexplained  feeling, 
and  recovered  himself  with  an  effort.  He  even  tried 
to  smile  at  Afra's  joke.  Finally,  when  be  was  com- 
pletely dressed,  and  looking  as  handsome  as  the  woman 
had  prophesied,  the  latter  showed  him  the  way  to  the 
parlor.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  been  in  the 
room  since  the  night  he  made  his  appearance  there  in 
such  alarming  fashion.  Twilight,  penetrated  with  the 
warmth  and  radiance  of  firelight,  filled  the  apartment 
when  he  entered.  With  slow,  uncertain  steps  he  made 
his  way  to  the  hearth,  and  dropped  into  Miss  Patty's 
easy-chair. 

"  After  all,  how  good  it  is  to  be  alive  and  about 
again  !  "  seemed  to  be  the  expression  of  his  whole  being 
as,  with  a  delicious  sense  of  rest  after  exertion,  he  sank 
among  Miss  Patty's  pillows.  A  bath,  a  barber,  fresh 
clothing,  and  an  armchair  had  made  him  feel  as  com- 
fortable and  delightfully  good  for  nothing  as  a  new 
baby.  As  he  sat  by  the  fire,  his  head  thrown  lazily 
back,  his  appearance  was  so  unlike  what  it  had  been 
the  night  he  stumbled  into  the  house  that  one  might 
well  fancy  he  had  been  created  anew  in  the  mean  time. 
The  sunburn  had  faded  from  his  features,  leaving  his 
fine-grained  skin  as  fair  and  smooth  as  marble.  His 
face  was  clean  shaven.  A  delicate  blue  tint,  contrasting 
finely  with  his  complexion,  was  all  that  was  left  of  his 
rough,  unkempt  beard.  His  hair,  which  had  been  cut 
so  close  as  to  leave  but  a  hint  of  its  luxuriant  curliness, 
outlined  his  martial  head  in  short,  crisp  waves.  He 
still  looked  every  inch  a  soldier,  but  a  soldier  in  his 


192  JACK  HORNER. 

softer  moods,  as  Aclillles  when  his  war-bronzed  coun- 
tenance had  become  fair  among  the  daughters  of  Ly- 
comedes.  His  hands,  which  lately  lay  pale  and  nerve- 
less on  the  coverlet,  were  white  still,  but  pulsating  with 
life  to  the  finger  tips.  Health  was  retui-ning  in  full 
tide.  It  convinced  Hardwick  that  it  was  time  to  take 
up  his  knapsack  and  depart.  He  drew  a  long  breath. 
It  was  like  the  breath  of  a  new  existence,  unfettered 
by  pain  or  weakness.  The  beautiful  room  in  which  he 
was  reclining,  the  glowing  fire  of  soft  coal,  added  to  a 
sense  of  well-being  which  he  enjoyed  in  every  fibre. 
He  lingered  over  it  as  a  child  over  the  last,  sweetest 
drop  of  a  drained  cup.  To-mori'ow,  he  would  be  gone. 
Only  one  thing  was  wanting  for  happiness,  which  at  no 
time  could  have  been  so  full  and  perfect  as  now  when 
a  gulf  seemed  to  separate  him  from  the  past,  and  a  fair, 
new  page  was  turned  on  which  to  begin  life's  account 
again.  Hardwick  sighed.  Dull  care  had  come  to  jog 
his  memory  as  to  a  trouble  from  which  no  gulf  could 
separate  him.  Just  then  the  door  opened,  and  Mrs. 
Key  with  Jack  in  her  arms  entered  the  room.  The  in- 
valid started  to  his  feet  with  heightened  color,  and  then 
sank  back  pale  as  death.  He  was  not  so  strong  as  he 
imagined. 

"  I  have  startled  you  !  I  'm  so  sorry  !  "  cried  Mad- 
elaine,  frightened  by  his  pallor.  "  I  did  not  know  you 
were  here.  Ought  you  to  have  come  down  ?  Can  I 
get  you  something  ?  " 

"  No  thank  you.  Please  take  a  seat,  Mrs.  Key.  It 
was  my  own  fault.  I  believe  I  've  been  dreaming," 
stammered  Hardwick. 

"You  were  asleep,  and  we  waked  you  ?  " 


FOR  JACK'S  SAKE.  193 

"  No,  I  was  dreaming  with  my  eyes  open." 

"  That  is  not  strange  with  this  beautiful  fire.  Jack 
and  I  came  down  to  see  the  fire,  did  n't  we,  Jack  ?  I 
often  dream  over  it  in  the  twilight,"  said  Madelaine, 
trying  to  cover  his  agitation.. 

"  Pooy !  "  an  equivalent  for  pretty,  cried  Jack, 
stretching  his  dimpled  fingers  to  the  blaze. 

"  You  will  not  go  ? "  pleaded  Hardwick,  seeing 
Madelaine  turn  towards  the  door,  her  intention  being  to 
get  him  a  glass  of  wine.  "  You  are  very  kind,  Mrs. 
Key,  but  I  want  nothing  except  —  Won't  you  sit  here 
a  moment?     I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

Madelaine  colored  and  hesitated. 

"  No,  Mrs.  Key,  not  that.  You  have  forbidden  me 
to  speak  of  that,  and  my  lips  are  sealed.  There  is 
something  else  I  would  say.  Won't  you  listen  to 
me  ?  " 

Thus  entreated,  Madelaine  sat  down.  He  was  so 
much  in  earnest  and  so  pale,  she  could  not  have  refused 
even  had  she  so  wished.  It  was  the  poor  fellow's  for- 
tune to  be  both  handsome  and  helpless,  and  it  was  hard 
to  resist  his  pleading.  Madelaine  was  built  on  large 
lines.  She  looked  quite  a  grand  figure  on  a  sofa  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  fire  with  Jack  on  her  knees. 
The  fitful  flame,  which  played  at  hide  and  seek  among 
the  boy's  yellow  curls,  left  her  at  one  time  in  shadow, 
and  at  another  transformed  her  face  with  warmth  and 
light.  To  Hard  wick's  imagination  she  and  Jack 
seemed  to  be  flitting  mysteriously  in  and  out  among 
the  shades  of  blind  man's  holiday.  One  moment  they 
were  in  strong  relief,  the  next  they  eluded  his  strain- 
ing vision. 


194  JACK  HORNER. 

A  cluster  of  white  violets  in  Madelaine's  dress,  into 
which  Jack  now  and  again  buried  his  nose  with  an  ec- 
static whiff,  added  the  charm  of  its  delicate  odor  to  the 
witching  time  and  place.  In  the  foreground  of  man's 
ideal  happiness  are  grouped  always  a  woman  and 
child.  Man  has  never  looked  across  a  hearthrug  at  a 
more  lovable  instance  of  such  grouping  than  met  Hard- 
wick's  eyes.  After  a  pause,  in  which  Madelaine  felt 
her  color  rise  under  his  regard,  while  she  wondered 
what  he  could  have  to  tell  her,  he  said,  — 

"  You  are  very  fond  of  Jack,  Mrs.  Key." 

"  Was  this  what  he  had  to  say  ?  "  she  thought.  "  So 
fond  of  him  that  I  do  not  like  to  think  of  leaving  him," 
she  said  aloud. 

Hardwick  turned  a  shade  paler  if  possible  ;  certainly, 
his  countenance  changed,  but  Madelaine,  looking  into 
the  child's  eyes,  which  were  beginning  to  draw  straws, 
did  not  perceive  it. 

"  And  will  you  ever  leave  him  ?  " 

*'  I  'm  afraid  Aunt  Patty  will  not  let  me  take  him 
home  with  me  when  I  go.  Dear  little  rogue,  I  feel  as 
if  he  belonged  to  me." 

"  I  'm  glad  of  that." 

Mrs.  Key  looked  up.  She  said  nothing,  but  her 
eyes  asked  an  unmistakably  surprised  '"  Why  ?  " 

Hardwick  understood,  and  answered,  '•  Because  I 
feel  as  if  he  belonged  to  me." 

That  was  a  queer  thing  to  say.  Hardwick  was  ill 
and  weak,  but  he  had  no  fever  and  seemed  to  be  in  his 
senses. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  she  began,  angry  with  herself 
for  blushing  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 


FOR  JACK'S  SAKE.  195 

"  I  did  not  suppose  you  would,"  he  interrupted,  his 
face  brightening  to  her  bhish  as  to  the  dawn.  "  It  is 
what  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about." 

Madelaine  turned  hot  and  cold.  What  was  coming  ? 
Something  in  the  air  portended  a  crisis.  Jack  felt  it. 
His  drowsy  eyes  opened  wide.  He  nestled  closer  to 
Madelaine's  bosom,  as  dumb  creatures  cower  before  a 
storm.  Hardwick's  face  was  a  battlefield  of  emotions, 
and  his  voice  so  charged  with  feeling  as  to  set  the 
heart  of  woman  and  child  to  fluttering. 

"  You  could  not  know,"  he  said,  "  that  I  love  Jack 
better  than  any  living  creature  except  —  one." 

No,  Madelaine  had  not  known.  A  jet  from  the 
bituminous  coal  breaking  into  flame  illuminated  her 
countenance,  blank  with  amazement. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  cared  for  him  at  all," 
she  answered  coldly,  with  an  instinctive  tightening  of 
her  clasp  on  the  boy. 

"  Would  it  give  you  an  idea  of  how  much  I  care  for 
him,  to  tell  you  that  I  risked  life  and  honor  to  get  one 
look  at  his  face  ?  "  stammered  Hardwick. 

"  You  knew  of  his  being  here  ?  "  her  eyes  dilating 
and  her  manner  growing  colder,  as  the  whirl  in  her 
brain  became  more  bewildering." 

"  Ah !  don't  speak  so.  Don't  be  hard  on  me.  I  did 
know,  but  — but  " —  His  voice  faltered  and  the  color 
died  out  of  his  face,  signs  of  weakness  irresistible  to  a 
woman. 

Madelaine,  reproaching  herself  for  cruelty  to  an  ill 
man,  hastened  to  say,  ''  I  don't  wish  to  be  hard  on 
you.  We  will  talk  of  this  another  time,  when  you  are 
better." 


196  JACK  HORNER. 

Hardwick  looked  the  gratitude  he  was  too  exhausted 
to  speak. 

To  the  subtle  and  penetrating  language  of  the  eye, 
beauty  lends  its  charm  as  a  sweet  voice  to  speech.  A 
sweet  voice  echoes  through  the  heart  like  a  chime 
of  bells,  but  a  message  from  fine  eyes  takes  tlie  soul 
silently  and  by  surprise.  Mrs.  Key,  receiving  Hard- 
wick's  unuttered  thanks,  looked  down.  It  was  locking 
the  stable  door. 

If  he  had  intended  to  soften  her  heart  toward  his 
coming  confession,  he  could  not  have  chosen  a  better 
•way.  Silence  fell  between  them.  The  eyes  of  both 
rested  on  Jack,  who,  unequal  to  the  strain  of  protracted 
feeling,  was  solacing  himself  with  a  thumb. 

The  tenderness  with  which  Madelaine  regarded 
him  was  deepened  to  pain  by  a  prophetic  dread  that 
the  long-sought  solution  of  his  mystery  was  at  hand, 
with  consequences  she  was  afraid  to  forecast.  Hard- 
wick was  strangely  moved.  His  lips  trembled  and  his 
heart  swelled,  as  he  contemplated  the  boy  on  Made- 
laine's  knees. 

The  young  man  and  woman,  under  the  influence  of 
strong  feeling  which  centred  in  the  child,  were  in  a 
peculiar  position,  of  which  they  were  vividly  conscious, 
and  which  would  have  been  embarrassing  but  for  its 
intense  reality.  There  was  no  room  for  conventional 
considerations. 

Hardwick,  with  hungry  heart  and  eyes,  yearned  to- 
wards the  child  he  did  not  dare  to  touch.  Madelaine, 
who  had  no  claim  upon  the  boy  but  love,  held  him 
cradled  in  her  arms. 

After  a  silence  in  which  their  hearts  seemed  to  be 


FOR  JACK'S  SAKE.  197 

beating  against  time  and  Hardwick  gathered  strength, 
he  began  again. 

"Mrs.  Key,  I  must  speak  now,"  he  said  huskily. 
"  I  shall  not  have  another  time." 

"  You  are  getting  better  ?  "  she  answered  quickly, 
struck  by  a  certain  hopelessness  in  his  tone. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  'm  all  right.     But  I  'm  going  away." 

"Not  until  you  are  better.  My  aunt  will  never 
allow  it." 

The  blood,  which  seemed  to  come  and  go  so  easily 
in  his  weakness,  flooded  his  face  again.  "  Your  aunt ! 
"Will  she  ever  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  What  has  she  to  forgive  ?  "  going  to  the  root  of 
the  matter  with  a  directness  which  surprised  herself. 
She  feared  as  much  as  wished  to  know  the  truth,  and 
waited  trembling  for  his  answer. 

"  What  has  she  to  forgive  ?  '  echoed  Hardwick,  wip- 
ing drops  of  moisture  from  his  brow.  "  Don't  you  know, 
can't  you  guess,  that  the  boy  in  your  arms  whom," 
faltering,  "  I  have  never  held  in  mine  is  —  is  my  boy  ?  " 

The  tears  rushed  to  Madelaine's  eyes.  ''  And  have 
you  never  kissed  him  ?  "  she  cried,  full  of  compassion. 
Forgetting  all  other  considerations,  she  sprang  up  and 
held  out  the  child  for  his  father's  first  kiss.  It  was 
a  case  where  pity  gave  ere  charity  began.  Whatever 
the  man's  fault  or  sin,  the  note  of  hungering  love  in 
his  voice  touched  Madelaine  to  the  quick.  And  a 
father's  first  caress  seemed  so  sacred  a  thing  that  she 
turned  aside  while  Hardwick  caught  Jack's  curly  head 
in  his  trembling  hands,  and  rained  kisses  on  his  hair, 
cheeks,  and  eyes  until  the  boy  cried,  — 

"Top!" 


198  JACK  HORNER. 

"  God  bless  you,  Mrs.  Key !  "  said  Hardwick,  with 
brimming  eyes  and  face  warmed  and  flushed  as  with 
new  wine,  "and  God  bless  my  boy." 

Madelaine  was  too  much  moved  to  say  anything  in 
reply. 

Silence  was  broken  by  the  clock  on  the  chimney- 
piece  striking  six.  Hardwick's  and  Madelaine's  eyes 
met.  The  little  silvery  voice  marked  the  moment  of 
time  in  their  memories  forever. 

Jack,  to  whom  the  occasion  was  of  no  small  interest, 
laid  his  head  on  the  cushion  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa, 
where  Mrs.  Key  had  placed  him  with  the  feeling  that 
he  no  longer  belonged  to  her,  and  fell  asleep.  Night 
having  closed  in,  a  servant  came  in  the  room  to  mend 
the  fire  and  light  the  lamps  ;  and  no  one  had  sjioken. 

Madelaine  was  trying  to  accommodate  her  mind  to 
the  wonderful  fact  that  Jack's  father,  through  no  effort 
of  hers,  was  found  at  last,  while  Hardwick  was  re- 
duced to  silence  by  the  number  of  things  he  wanted 
to  say. 

Finally,  when  the  servant  was  gone,  "  Mrs.  Key,  if 
you  will  listen  to  me,"  he  began  brokenly. 

"  I  'm  quite  ready  to  listen,  Captain  Hardwick." 

"  I  want  you  to  believe  that  I  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  boy  being  left  here." 

Madelaine's  face  cleared.  If  that  were  so,  Hard- 
wick had  not  been  so  mucb  to  blame. 

*'  I  was  away  —  with  the  army,"  he  continued, 
"  when  the  boy  was  born  about  two  years  ago,  and 
when  my  wife  died  in  December.  I  have  been  cut 
off  from  all  communication  since  the  beginning  of  tbe 
war,  and  did  not  know  of  either  event  until  not  long 


FOR  JACK'S  SAKE.  199 

before  I  came  here.  Through  no  fault  of  mine,  my  wife 
and  child  were  thrown  upon  the  charity  of  strangers, 
who,  when  my  wife  died,  left  the  boy  here  at  your  aunt's 
door." 

Having  with  great  effort  told  his  story,  Hardwick 
leaned  back  on  Miss  Patty's  pillows,  exhausted.  The 
pitiful  tale,  told  in  a  simple,  straightforward  way,  car- 
ried conviction  to  Mrs.  Key. 

"  Captain  Hardwick,"  she  said  warmly,  ashamed  of 
her  suspicions,  "  I  understand  it  all  now,  and  I  think 
God  must  have  put  it  into  the  mind  of  those  strangers 
to  leave  Jack  here.  Don't  be  troubled  about  it  any 
more.  The  child,  you  know,  has  found  home  and 
friends  here,  and  nothing  makes  my  aunt  so  happy  as 
the  certainty  that  she  is  caring  for  the  boy  of  one  of 
our  soldiers." 

Hardwick  looked  at  her  steadfastly  without  answer- 
ing, and  his  face  was  so  miserable  that  she  felt  she  had 
failed  in  the  comfort  she  wanted  to  give.  Her  heart 
swelled  with  pity. 

"  If  it  would  make  you  happier  to  know  "  —  she  be- 
gan, her  voice  richer  and  kindlier  than  ever  with 
generous  emotion. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Mrs.  Key,"  he  interrupted,  "  don't 
be  kind  to  me ;  I  can  stand  anything  but  that !  " 

"  Captain  Hardwick  !  " 

"  I  know  what  you  would  say,"  he  went  on.  "You 
would  assure  me  that  you  will  be  kind  to  my  boy,  and 
may  God  bless  you  for  it.  If  anything  could  make 
me  happier,  it  would  be  that.  But  happiness  and  I 
have  parted  company  forever ;  "  and  his  countenance 
looked  drawn  and  haggard,  as  if  he  spoke  truth. 


200  JACK  HORNER. 

"  With  a  boy  to  live  for  and  a  country  to  die  for,  a 
man  should  not  say  that." 

Hardwick's  lip  quivered. 

"  What  if  a  man  has  forfeited  his  right  to  do 
either  ?  "  he  asked,  his  voice  betraying  possibilities  of 
misery  beyond  Madelaine's  conjectm*e. 

"  But  that  cannot  be  !  "  she  cried,  turning  pale. 

"  You  can  understand  how  it  can  be,"  he  said  stead- 
ily, though  his  eyes  gleamed  like  burning  coals  ;  "  that 
my  case  is  such  that  if  I  fall  into  the  hands  of  one  army 
I  shall  be  shot  as  a  deserter,  and  if  the  other,  hanged 
as  a  spy." 

Madelaine,  white  as  a  ghost,  started  to  her  feet, 
overwhelmed  by  fears  too  horrible  to  contemplate. 

"  Captain  Hardwick  !  "  she  gasped,  "  Who  are  you  ? 
What  have  you  done  ?  " 

"I  —  I  have  —  loved,"  he  faltered,  his  glance  falling 
on  the  sleeping  child,  "  and  risked  everything  to  get  one 
look  at  Jack." 

He  looked  appealingly  into  Madelaine's  stern  face, 
his  eyes  eloquent  with  the  appeal,  "  Forgive  much,  for 
I  have  loved  much." 

Madelaine  drew  a  long  breath,  and  the  color  came 
back  to  her  cheek. 

"  You  mean  you  left  the  army  without  leave  ?  There 
can  be  no  harm  in  that.  You  were  ill,  and  men  do  not 
fight  in  a  delirium  of  fever,"  she  cried,  sinking  back 
into  her  seat. 

Hardwick  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  I  mean  more  than  that." 

"  But  do  not  tell  me  more,"  she  begged,  clasping 
her  liands. 


FOR  JACK'S  SAKE.  201 

''  Dear  lady,  may  I  not  tell  you  that  my  life  is  in 
your  hands  ?  " 

"  Captain  Hardwick  !  " 

"  You  have  but  to  speak  a  word,  and  before  to-mor- 
row's sun  goes  down  I  shall  be  hanged  as  a  spy." 

"  Captain  Hardwick !  "  her  face  wild  and  horror- 
struck,  "  are  you  —  are  you  —  ah !  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  humbly. 

"  Captain  Hardwick  !  " 

"  My  name  is  not  Hardwick." 

Madelaine  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  moaned. 
It  was  a  moment  of  weakness.  Then  she  rose  and 
stood  before  him,  trembling,  indeed,  but  straight  as 
a  lance,  her  eyes  and  cheeks  aflame.  E)ven  in  that 
dread  moment  she  seemed  to  Hardwick  a  beautiful, 
terrible  angel  as  she  denounced  him. 

"  You  wear  Confederate  gray,"  she  said,  in  low,  con- 
centrated tones,  "  but  it  seems  you  are  an  enemy. 
You  and  your  child  are  quartered  upon  this  house,  and 
by  the  law  of  charity,  you  must  be  treated  with  hos- 
pitality as  long  as  you  are  helpless.  If  you  are  a  spy," 
—  Hardwick  groaned,  —  "I  suppose  no  law  is  binding 
on  you." 

*'  My  God !  this  is  more  than  I  can  bear,"  thought 
Hardwick,  but  he  could  not  speak.  Something  in  his 
throat  seemed  to  choke  him.  At  last  with  effort  he  got 
out  the  words,  "  I  will  give  my  parole." 

"  Parole  of  honor  ?  " 

No  man  could  put  a  sting  into  words  like  her  em- 
phasis. 

Union  men  during  the  war  had  the  advantage  in  the 
■newest  and  most  effective  arms,  but  there  will  never  be 


202  JACK  HORNER. 

invented  a  weapon  of  offense  equal  to  that  which  the 
Confederate  woman  carried  with  her  always.  When 
a  Federal  soldier  came  within  range  of  its  bewildering 
fire,  his  Confederate  brother  was  avenged.  All  Made- 
lain  e's  passionate  patriotism,  with  its  terrible  resent- 
ments and  griefs,  broke  forth.  Her  voice  was  low,  but 
her  words  were  keen  and  cruel  as  daggers  that  find  a 
mortal  spot  with  every  thrust, 

Hardwick's  countenance  expressed  all  the  anguish  a 
man  can  feel.  He  was  deathly  pale,  his  forehead  con- 
tracted with  a  dark  furrow  between  the  brows,  his 
blue  eyes  looked  black  as  he  raised  them  piteously  to 
her  face. 

Madelaine  was  too  excited  to  notice  these  warnings, 
and  presently,  while  she  was  invoking  destruction  on 
her  country's  invaders,  especially  on  those  secret  ene- 
mies who  came  in  the  garb  of  friends,  he  fainted. 

"■  Ah  1  I  have  killed  him  I  "  she  cried,  terrified,  as 
his  head  fell  back  and  he  lay  white  and  still  as  death. 
She  opened  a  window  ;  she  loosened  his  gray  coat ; 
she  brought  water  from  the  adjoining  room  and  bathed 
his  face.  After  a  time^  in  which  she  became  more  and 
more  frightened  and  redoubled  her  efforts  to  revive 
him,  he  heaved  a  great  sigh  and  opened  his  eyes. 
They  met  hers  as  she  hung  over  him.  They  were 
beautiful  eyes,  both  the  blue  and  the  gray.  Eyes  do 
not  wear  hostile  colors.  That  is,  Hardwick's  of  loyal 
blue  drank  in  a  moment  of  happiness  from  the  encoun- 
ter. The  rebel  gray  lowered  their  colors,  and  the  lids 
behind  which  they  retired  were  white  as  flags  of  truce. 
Mrs.  Key  pressed  her  hand  to  her  side  with  a  long, 
deep  sob.     She   was  shaken   by  relief  following  close 


FOR  JACK'S  SAKE.  203 

upon  anxiety,  and  by  the  revelations  of  the  evening. 
The  movement  was  an  unconscious  effort  to  still  the 
tumult  of  her  heart.  Hardwick's  eyes  had  again  stirred 
feelings,  whether  of  happiness  or  pain  she  could  not 
tell,  but  which  had  been  long  buried  and  she  believed 
to  be  dead.  Whatever  they  were,  they  had  sprung 
for  a  moment  to  passionate  life  again,  and  Madelaine, 
Avith  burning  cheeks,  thought  of  herself  as  a  traitor  to 
her  country  and  her  own  soul.  Suddenly,  into  the 
tense,  throbbing  stillness  of  the  moment  there  broke  a 
sound  of  hustling  feet,  angry  voices,  and  a  thundering 
knock  at  the  front  door.  A  deafening  uproar  raged 
round  the  house,  and  out  of  the  din  there  presently 
rose  clear-cut,  intelligible  sentences. 

"  This  is  the  house  !  " 

*'  The  damned  Yankee  is  inside  !  " 

"  Yank  him  out  of  bed  !  " 

"  Have  him  out !  " 

"  The  lamp-post  is  just  round  the  corner !  " 

This  and  more  yelled  a  mob  outside.  Night  had  all 
at  once  become  hideous.  Hardwick,  weak  as  he  was, 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  began  tearing  off  his  coat.  He 
would  not  meet  death  under  false  colors.  Madelaine, 
white  as  ashes,  put  out  her  hand. 

"  Keep  it  on,"  she  commanded. 

As  she  spoke,  the  door  of  the  room  was  flung  open, 
and  Daniel  ushered  in  two  young  Confederate  lieuten- 
ants. Outside,  the  hall  was  full  of  soldiers,  who 
guarded  the  front  door  against  the  mob  in  the  street. 
Seeing  Mrs.  Key,  the  officers  paused  upon  the  thresh- 
old. 

"  I   beg  pardon    for   intruding,  madam,"   said    the 


204  JACK  HORNER. 

elder,  blushing  like  a  schoolboy  at  his  ungracious  task, 
"  but  we  have  been  detailed  to  search  these  premises." 

"  You  must  obey  orders,  of  course,"  said  Madelaine 
calmly,  "  but  may  I  ask  for  what  purpose  ?  Do  you 
know  my  brother,  gentlemen  ?  "  indicating  Hardwick, 
whom  in  right  of  his  rank  they  saluted.  "  Are  we  not 
good  Confederates?  " 

"None  better,  madam,"  said  the  lieutenant,  who 
knew  Mrs.  Key  by  sight  and  her  brothers  by  reputa- 
tion. "  But  we  have  received  information  that  your 
hospitality  is  being  imposed  upon  by  a  Federal  spy." 

Madelaine  started. 

"  A  F'ederal  spy  ?  " 

"  A  Federal  spy,  madam." 

"  And  how  did  you  learn  this  ?  " 

"  The  information  came  from  the  surgeon-general's 
office." 

"  Dr.  Maguire  must  have  reported  this,"  said  Made- 
laine, turning  to  her  brother. 

Hardwick  bowed. 

"  Dr.  Maguire,"  she  resumed,  turning  to  the  lieuten- 
ant, "  has  been  attending  a  patient  here,  dangerously 
ill." 

"  Yes,  madam,  that 's  the  fellow,  and  although  still  in 
bed,  he  's  reported  well  enough  to  be  removed." 

"  It  's  strange  Dr.  Maguire  never  told  us  of  his  sus- 
picions," said  Madelaine  to  her  brother,  who  was  strok- 
ing the  sleeping  boy's  curls. 

"  May  we  be  shown  to  the  man's  room  ?  "  said  the 
lieutenant  impatiently,  the  noise  outside  becoming 
every  moment  more  violent. 

Madelaine's    spirit   rose  with    the   tumult,  and    her 


FOR  JACK'S  SAKE.  205 

brain  became  preternaturally  active  under  excitement. 
"  Certainly  ;  and  I  will  go  with  you.  Daniel,"  giving 
the  negro  a  look  which  he  perfectly  understood,  "  show 
these  gentlemen  Captain  Hardwick's  room.  I  '11  follow 
in  a  moment." 

"  Hardwick  ?  "  said  the  officer.  "  Yes,  that  's  the 
name  the  fellow  assumes,  —  the  name  of  a  gallant  Geoi-- 
gian  killed  near  Ashland."  A  movement  on  the  sofa 
made  Madelaine  turn  quickly. 

"  Don't  move,  brother.  Gentlemen,  you  wiU  excuse 
my  brother  from  assisting  you.  As  you  see,  he,  too,  is 
just  recovering  from  a  dangerous  illness." 

Wben  they  were  out  of  the  room,  she  turned  to 
Hardwick,  and  said  in  low,  rapid  tones,  — 

'"  Your  only  chance  is  to  go  out  of  the  front  door 
and  through  the  crowd.  Your  uniform  will  protect  you. 
A  Confederate  cap  and  overcoat  are  on  the  rack  in  the 
hall.  Daniel's  wife  lives  at  the  corner  of  Main  and 
First  streets.    Go  there,  and  tell  her  I  sent  you.   Come." 

"  But,"  objected  Hardwick. 

"  Don't  oppose  me,"  sharply. 

She  led  the  way  into  the  hall,  and  as  she  helped  him 
on  with  the  overcoat,  she  breathed  into  his  ear,  — 

"  You  give  me  your  parole  ?  " 

"  By  all  that  is  sacred,  my  parole  of  lionor.^'' 

"  My  men,"  she  said  to  the  soldiers  on  guard,  "  let 
my  brother  out,  and  one  of  you  get  him  througli  the 
crowd.  He  is  ill  and  weak,  but  he  is  going  on  an  errand 
of  life  and  death.  When  you  come  back,  I  will  give 
you  a  supper." 

She  knew  her  dear,  famished  Confederates  well. 
Half  the  men  offered  to  be  Hardwick's  escort. 


206  JACK  HORNER. 

Hardwick,  meanwhile,  faint,  feverish,  and  completely 
under  Madelaine's  sway,  was  being  made  to  act  a  part 
with  scarcely  any  volition  of  his  own.  At  the  last 
moment,  however,  he  threw  himself  into  the  character, 
and  imposed  its  conditions  in  the  most  unexpected 
manner  on  Madelaine  herself. 

"  Good-by,  my  sister,"  he  said  tenderly,  stooping 
to  kiss  her  trembling  lips. 

Madelaine,  amazed,  abashed,  and  blushing  crimson, 
could  not  resist. 

Having  proclaimed  that  this  ill  brother  was  depart- 
ing on  an  errand  of  life  and  death,  it  was  laid  upon 
her  to  act  out  the  part.  Her  mouth  met  his  as  a  dew- 
drop  meets  the  all-compelling  sun  ;  and  Hardwick,  hav- 
ing tasted  happiness,  went  out  to  meet  his  fate  without 
a  care. 

Madelaine,  with  her  cheeks  on  fire,  went  back  into 
the  parlor,  and  bending  over  the  sleeping  child,  mur- 
mured between  tender  kisses,  — 

"  It  was  all  for  your  sake.  Jack." 

A  still  small  voice  whispered  back,  — 

"  Was  it  all  for  Jack's  sake  ?  " 


XXII. 

LOVE   RULES   THE    CAMP. 

A  DEAFENING  roar  from  the  street  followed  the 
opening  and  shutting  of  the  front  door  on  Hardwick 
and  his  escort.  The  mob,  greeting  what  they  believed 
to  be  a  Federal  spy  with  a  howl  of  rage,  gave  another 
of  disappointment  when  they  found  the  house  had  dis- 
gorged only  a  couple  of  Confederate  soldiers,  one  of 
whom,  supported  by  his  companion,  looked  more  dead 
than  alive. 

The  crowd  made  way  for  a  man  manifestly  not  able 
to  get  on  without  assistance.  In  a  few  minutes,  Hard- 
wick was  beyond  the  press,  and  his  escort  fighting  his 
way  back  to  the  house  for  his  promised  provender. 
Meanwhile,  the  uproar  had  roused  the  house  to  the 
wildest  excitement.  Fortunately,  Mr.  and  Miss  Prit- 
chard  were  out  of  the  way.  Miss  Patty  having  gone 
with  Larry  to  call  on  the  Disneys,  for  the  first  time 
since  his  engagement.  The  servants  were  frightened 
out  of  their  wits  by  the  commotion  and  the  presence 
of  so  many  soldiers.  They  rushed  pellmell  into  the 
parlor. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Mrs.  Key,"  cried  the  new  nurse, 
trembling  in  every  limb  as  she  caught  up  Jack  from 
the  sofa,  "  what 's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  O    Miss    Madlin,    has    de    Yankees     done    took 


208  JACK  HORNER. 

Riclimon'  at  las'  ? "  moaned  Afra,  rocking  back  and 
forth  with  her  apron  thrown  over  her  head. 

"Nothing  of  the  kind.  But  the  house  is  being 
searched  for  a  Yankee  soldier.  Keep  quiet.  There  's 
no  need  to  be  frightened?'' 

"  How  's  a  Yankee  soldier  g\vine  to  git  in  here  ?  " 
said  Afra  quickly,  uncovering  her  head  and  looking 
more  inquisitive  than  scared. 

"  Will  they  do  anything  to  us  ?  "  gasped  the  terror- 
stricken  nurse. 

Madelaine,  remembering  her  promise  to  accompany 
the  searching  party,  left  the  chattering  women  and  ran 
upstairs.  On  the  first  landing,  she  met  the  lieutenants 
and  Daniel  returning,  the  former  voluble  with  anger, 
the  negro  patient  and  stupid  as  the  case  required. 
He  had  understood  Mrs.  Key's  tacit  command,  and 
obeyed. 

"  'T  ain't  wuth  yo'  while  hustlin'  me,  marster,  I 
dunno  nothin  'bout  no  Yankee,"  he  was  saying  to  the 
officer,  who,  holding  him  by  the  collar,  was  apparently 
trying  to  shake  the  breath  out  of  his  body. 

"  You  scoundrelly  negroes  are  all  in  league  with  the 
Yankees.  You  've  allowed  this  one  to  escape.  If  you 
don't  tell  me  where  he  is,  I  '11  break  every  bone  in  your 
damned  black  skin." 

"  I  dunno  whar  no  Yankee  is  no  mo'  dan  de  dade." 

At  sight  of  Mrs.  Key,  the  officer  tried  to  curb  him- 
self. 

"  The  man  who  occupied  that  room  is  gone,"  he 
said  angrily. 

"  Gone  ?  " 

"  That  is,  he  is  not  there,  and  we  shall   be  obliged 


LOVE  RULES  THE   CAMP.  209 

to  search  the  house  thorouglily.  It 's  a  deuced  ugly 
business." 

"  He  was  there  not  long  ago,"  said  Mrs.  Key  calmly. 
"  He  must  have  escaped  downstairs,  while  I  was  here. 
If  he  is  really  a  Yankee,  all  this  noise  round  the  house 
probably  warned  him,  and  our  outer  doors,  the  back  as 
well  as  the  front,  are  always  unlocked." 

''  By  George,  the  back  door !  "  exclaimed  the  lieu- 
tenant. 

"  You  should  have  come  quietly.  What  made  you 
bring  a  mob  at  your  heels  ?  " 

"  We  did  n't  bring  the  mob,"  indignantly.  "  We 
found  it  roaring  round  the  house.  The  rumor  of  a 
Yankee  spy  leaked  out  somehow,  and  the  crowd  got 
ahead  of  us." 

"  Had  n't  you  better  begin  the  search  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Key,  bringing  her  aunt's  keys. 

Together  they  searched  every  corner  of  the  house, 
without  finding  a  trace  of  a  Y"ankee.  When  they  got 
to  the  parlor,  the  servants,  who  had  been  dodging  the 
soldiers,  were  gone  with  the  boy  Jack. 

The  younger  of  the  officers  said,  "  Mrs.  Key,  where 
is  your  brother,  Captain  Key,  who  was  here  when  we 
came  ?  " 

"  Yes,  where  is  your  brother  ?  He  might  give  us 
some  information,"  said  the  other. 

"  My  brother  ?  "  returned  Madelaine,  while  her  heart 
seemed  to  stand  still.  "  111  as  he  is,  he  went  out  to  see 
if  he  could  not  get  rid  of  the  mob  round  the  house. 
It  is  n't  pleasant  to  be  besieged  in  this  way." 

"  Come,"  said  the  elder  officer  to  his  comrade,  "  we 
must  be  going.     Perhaps  we  will  meet  the  captain." 


210  JACK  HORNER. 

"It  is  very  dangerous  for  him  to  be  out  this  damp 
evening,"  said  Mrs.  Key. 

The  officers  with  their  men  went  away  without  a 
suspicion  of  the  truth. 

"  Thank  God,  they  've  gone  !  "  burst  from  Madelaine 
hysterically  between  laughing  and  crying.  "  I  could  n't 
have  stood  it  another  minute.  My  endurance  was 
wound  up  to  last  just  so  long.  If  I  'd  been  obliged  to 
say  another  word,  I  should  have  betrayed  myself  — 
and  him,"  catching  up  the  sofa  pillow  and  burying  her 
face  in  it.  The  necessity  for  effort  withdrawn,  she  had 
relapsed  into  a  trembling,  frightened  woman.  She  was 
terrified  at  her  own  audacity.  She  reviewed  what  she 
had  done  as  if  it  had  been  performed  by  an  altogether 
different  person.  It  seemed  as  if  it  had  been  a  dif- 
ferent person  from  this  shrinking  coward  in  the  corner 
of  the  sofa,  hugging  a  pillow  to  her  violently  throbbing 
heart.  She  had  never  before  consciously  acted  a 
part.  She  thought  how  poorly  and  with  what  weak 
knees  she  had  gone  through  it,  and  how  stupid  those 
young  fellows  were  not  to  liave  discovered  hei*.  She 
did  not  know  that  she  had  concealed  her  terror  with 
the  coolness  of  a  Spartan,  and  acted  her  part  without  a 
flaw. 

Now  that  it  was  all  over  and  the  rush  of  feeling 
had  subsided,  she  was  tormented  with  the  question  as 
to  whether  she  had  been  right  in  letting  her  prisoner 
go.  From  her  point  of  view,  he  had  performed  a 
splendidly  courageous  and  pardonable  act  in  risking 
everything  to  get  one  look  at  his  son.  A  man  is  a 
man  before  he  is  a  soldier.  She  could  not  persuade 
herself  that  the  government  would  have  seen  it  in  the 


LOVE  RULES  THE   CAMP.  211 

same  light.  On  the  other  hand,  she  could  not  ignore 
the  fact  that  even  she  could  never  have  regarded  him 
so  leniently  had  she  known  at  the  beginning  that  he 
was  one  of  the  enemy.  She  had  learned  to  know  him 
through  long  weeks  of  patient  suffering  as  a  brave, 
handsome,  loyal  Confederate  soldier.  There  was  the 
difference. 

The  disturbance  in  the  street  gradually  ceased,  and 
in  attempting  to  go  quietly  over  the  scene  which  had 
left  her  so  shaken,  Mrs.  Key  remembered  that  some- 
thing in  Daniel's  behavior  had  struck  her  as  peculiar. 
A  sudden  light  flashed  upon  her.  She  called  the 
man  up. 

"  Daniel !  "  her  manner  was  so  agitated  and  full  of 
meaning  that  the  negro  felt  what  was  coming.  He 
turned  ashen  gray,  and  stood  first  on  one  foot  and  then 
the  other,  as  he  answered  humbly,  — 

"  Yes,  Miss  Madlin." 

"  You  knew  about  Captain  Hardwick  ?  "  Silence, 
broken  only  by  the  man's  heavy  breathing. 

"  It  will  be  better  for  you  to  tell  me  the  truth." 

"  Befo'  Gawd,  Miss  Madlin,  I  did  n't  mean  no 
harm." 

The  flash  of  light  which  had  given  Madelaine  the 
first  clew  increased  every  moment.  A  bandage  seemed 
to  have  fallen  from  blinded  eyes,  revealing  the  situa- 
tion as  at  midday. 

The  occasion  was  too  momentous  and  full  of  danger 
for  many  words.  Her  words  fell  sharp  and  quick  as  if 
forced  out  by  the  violent  heart  throbs  beating  against 
her  side. 

"  You  brought  Captain  Hardwick  here  ?  " 


212  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Lawd  have  mussy  on  my  po'  soul !  "  groaned 
Daniel,  in  an  agony  of  terror. 

"  Don't  make  a  noise,  but  tell  me  the  truth  at  once. 
The  soldiers  may  be  back  again,"  her  own  face  blanch- 
ing, as  she  glanced  round  the  room  to  see  if  the  doors 
were  tightly  closed. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Madlin,  I  fotched  him  here,"  confessed 
the  trembling  negro,  his  words  shaken  out  of  him  as 
by  an  ague.  "  But  't  was  jest  for  a  minute  for  him  to 
git  a  look  at  little  Mars  Jack,  dat  he  never  had  seed 
sence  he  was  bawn.  He  was  gwine  right  away  agin 
as  soon  as  he  got  one  look,  but  you  see  he  had  cotched 
de  fever  an'  was  out  o'  his  hade.  Nobody  did  n't  know 
he  was  gwine  to  be  sick  an'  stay  heah  all  dis  time. 
I  nuvver  w^ould  'a  had  notliin'  to  do  wid  it,  if  I  had 
knowed." 

"  And  Mrs.  Manning  knew  who  he  was  ?  "  seeing  her 
way  clearer  and  clearer. 

"  'T  was  Miss  Mannin'  dat  did  eberything.  She  let 
de  cap'n  know  by  de  newspapers  an'  de  blockade  run- 
ners all  'bout  his  wife  and  chile." 

Madelaine  groaned. 

"  Blind,  Wind,  blind  I  " 

"  Miss  Mannin'  used  ter  lib  wid  de  cap'n  an'  his 
his  wife  down  to  Fortress  Monroe  befo'  de  wah  broke 
out.  An'  befo'  de  Lawd,  Miss  Madlin',  nobody  did  n't 
mean  no  harm  but  jest  ter  let  de  little  boy's  daddy  git 
one  look  at  him  befo'  he  got  kilt  in  de  wah,"  pleaded 
Daniel,  wiping  his  eyes. 

"  Does  Afra  know  ?  "  seized  with  a  new  terror ;  for 
she  could  not  count  on  this  voluble  woman's  discretion. 

"  My  Gawd,  Miss  Madlin,  no  !     Afra,  she  jaw  too 


LOVE  RULES   THE   CAMP.  213 

much.  We  'd  all  been  hung  long  ago  ef  she  had  knowed. 
Nobody  did  n"t  know  but  me  an'  Miss  Mannin'," 

"  Mrs.  Manning  keeps  a  secret  well,"  said  Made- 
laine  impatiently,  more  to  herself  than  to  Daniel. 

"  Miss  Mannin'  was  so  skeered,  she  did  n't  dar  to 
look  at  me  an'  de  cap'n.  She  never  took  Mars  Jack 
one  time  whar  de  cap'n  was,  she  was  so  'fraid  folks 
would  'spec'." 

Mrs.  Key  reflected  bitterly  that  she  had  performed 
that  office  for  father  and  son, 

"  How  did  you  get  the  - —  the  man  here  ?  " 

"You  know,  Miss  Madlin,  de  inemy  been  mighty 
nigh  Richmon'  lately,  an'  got  hold  o'  heap  o'  our  nig- 
gers. An'  you  see  de  ambulance  man  what  fotched 
him  into  town  knowed  me  an'  I  knowed  him." 

"  I  see,  1  see,"  said  Madelaine,  recognizing  the  pos- 
sibility of  a  negro  smuggling  a  Yankee  into  a  dead 
Confederate's  uniform  and  into  the  town,  and  how 
much  Southerners  were  at  the  mercy  of  their  slaves. 
"  Do  you  know  you  have  done  a  very  dreadful  thing  ?  " 
she  continued  hesitatingly,  puzzled  how  to  reprove  him 
for  bringing  a  Yankee  to  the  house  when  she  had  con- 
nived at  his  escape.  "  Go  !  I  will  think  what  must  be 
done,"  hurriedly,  hearing  a  movement  in  the  house. 

Daniel  got  out  of  the  room  as  quickly  as  possible. 
Madelaine  was  glad  to  be  alone,  to  think  over  the  al- 
most incredible  events  of  the  last  few  hours. 

"  Jack  the  son  of  a  Yankee  soldier !  Poor  Aunt 
Patty  !  "  was  her  first  thought. 

The  facts  elicited  from  the  negro's  trembling  confes- 
sion gave  her  an  insight  into  Hardwick's  probable  his- 
tory.    She  could  imagine  a  young  married  officer  sta- 


214  JACK  HORNER. 

tioned  at  Fortress  Monroe  before  the  war  being  assigned 
active  duty  in  a  distant  field  on  the  breaking  out  of 
hostilities,  and  so  obliged  to  leave  his  wife  and  unborn 
child.  An  hundred  things  might  have  happened,  as 
had  so  often  happened,  to  cut  off  communication  be- 
tween husband  and  wife  until  now,  when  the  North 
was  massing  troops  near  Richmond.  Her  imagina- 
tion filled  out  Daniel's  hasty  sketch  almost  exactly  ;  and 
in  after  years  she  learned  the  details.  Hardwick  had 
been  stationed  at  Fortress  Monroe  before  the  war,  and 
had  married  a  pretty  girl  in  the  neighboring  town  of 
Norfolk,  When  the  war  came,  he  had  been  obliged 
to  leave  her  in  Norfolk  with  her  father.  When  the 
Federals  took  Norfolk,  father  and  daughter  went  to 
Richmond,  and  there  the  father  died.  The  young 
woman,  under  the  ban  of  being  a  Federal  officer's  wife, 
Avas  left  penniless  and  friendless  but  for  a  faithful 
servant.  This  servant,  the  pretty  English  woman, 
Mrs.  Manning,  cleverly  managed  the  rest,  even  to  per- 
suading a  young  Confederate  soldier  in  Richmond  on 
furlough  and  a  lark,  against  the  remonstrances  of  a 
comrade,  to  leave  Jack  at  the  Pritchards'  door.  In- 
explicable mysteries,  like  authentic  ghosts,  often  come 
to  be  explained  in  a  simple,  unghostly  way. 

Then  Madelaine  thought  bitterly  how  destiny  had 
shaped  things  for  her  against  her  struggling.  She  had 
honestly  tried  to  escape  the  danger  in  wliich  she  found 
herself.  She  had  kept  out  of  Hardwick's  way  after  he 
told  her  he  loved  her.  She  had  wanted  to  go  quite 
away  from  him,  to  get  out  of  the  very  town  in  which 
he  breathed,  and  had  been  prevented.  Then  to-night, 
—  to-night  when  he  had  bent  down  and  kissed  her,  she 


LOVE  RULES  THE   CAMP.  215 

was  powerless  to  resist.  She  might  have  denounced 
him  then  and  there  as  a  Federal  officer  for  taking  ad- 
vantage of  her  helplessness.  A  heroic  woman  would 
have  denounced  him.  But  she  was  not  heroic.  That 
kiss  had  filled  her  with  indignation,  amazement,  confu- 
sion, happiness ! 

She  started  to  her  feet  burning  with  one  great  blush, 
as  she  heard  the  movement  in  the  house  again.  It 
turned  out  to  be  Mr.  Pritchard  and  his  sister  coming 
back  from  their  visit  to  the  Disneys.  They  had  met 
the  retiring  wave  of  excitement  in  the  street,  and  now 
burst  into  the  room  in  a  great  flurry.  Miss  Patty's 
best  bonnet,  donned  out  of  respect  to  Larry's  ^awcee, 
was  all  awry,  and  her  little  curls,  blown  out  of  all  pro- 
priety, hung  In  disreputable  strings  over  her  eyes. 
Larry,  with  a  very  red  face,  rubbed  his  hands  excit- 
edly. Had  they  been  indulging  at  the  neighboring 
^saloon,  they  could  not  have  looked  more  shaken  out  of 
their  ordinary  correct  appearing. 

"  My,  my  !  Madelaine,  what  has  happened  ?  "  cried 
Miss  Patty,  out  of  breath. 

''  What  is  it,  Madelaine  ?  What  is  it  ?  "  cried  Larry. 
"  Ever  since  Patty  took  that  brat  Jack  into  the  house, 
something  is  always  happening,"  trotting  out  his  favor- 
ite grievance,  and  unconsciously  touching  the  core  of  the  ' 
matter.  "  First  the  blockade  runner  and  that  hussy 
Manning,  and  now  this  infernal  row  at  my  very  door. 
As  if  a  war  was  not  bad  enough,  that  a  man  should 
have  all  this  trouble  at  home  !  " 

Never  before  had  Larry  been  so  excited  as  to  use 
language  beyond  the  Scriptural  yea  and  nay.  He  was 
thoroughly  upset  and  out  of  temper. 


216  JACK  HORNER. 

"  I  hope  it  's  all  over  now,  uncle,"  said  Madelaine 
meekly  when  she  could  get  in  a  word. 

"  I  don't  know  why  it  should  have  hegun,"  said 
Larry,  getting  out  of  his  overcoat  tempestuously,  "  I 
never  was  so  hustled  in  my  life.  What  did  those 
wretches  mean  by  yelling  for  a  Yankee  round  my 
house  ?  " 

"  O  Madelaine,"  whispered  Miss  Patty,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes,  while  Madelaine  helped  her  off  with  her 
bonnet,  her  own  hands  too  tremulous  to  untie  the 
strings,  "  was  ever  anybody  who  loved  their  country 
as  we  do  so  tormented  with  suspicions  ?  Now  that 
Mrs.  Manning  has  gone,  what  can  they  mean  ?  That 
angry  crowd  frightened  me  so  !  " 

"  I  know,  aunt,  I  know.  It  was  very  terrifying, 
but  it 's  all  over  now." 

"  Do  you  know  what  they  wanted  ?  "  asked  uncle 
and  aunt  in  a  breath. 

"  Yes  ;  two  young  officers  came  in  "  — 

"  Came  in  ?  Came  into  this  house  ?  "  interrupted 
Larry. 

"And  you  saw  them  ?  "  asked  Miss  Patty. 

"Yes." 

"  And  what  did  they  want  ?  "  in  a  breath, 

"  They  said  they  came  to  search  for  a  Yankee 
soldier." 

"  Here  ?  "  cried  both. 

"  Yes.  They  had  got  hold  of  a  rumor  that  there 
was  one  here  ill  or  pretending  to  be." 

"  And  did  you  tell  them  the  only  Yankee  we  had 
was  a  Georgian  ?  "  asked  Larry  indignantly. 

"  No,  I  let  them  search  for  themselves." 


LOVE  RULES   THE   CAMP.  217 

"  You  did  ?  I  hope  they  found  Hardwick  for  their 
pains." 

"  They  saw  Captain  Hardwick,"  stooping  to  pick  up 
her  aunt's  gloves. 

"•  Patty,"  said  Larry,  turning  on  his  sister  again, 
"  I  believe  if  you  had  never  brought  the  boy  and  the 
suspected  woman  Manning  into  the  house  we  should 
not  have  had  this  persecution.  It  all  comes  from  that 
woman." 

"  Mrs.  Manning  certainly  seems  to  have  been  a 
Jonah,"  agreed  Miss  Patty  humbly. 

Madelaine  had  not  only  to  endure  her  uncle's  pet- 
tish surmises,  which  came  so  terrifyingly  near  the 
truth,  but  endless  eager  questioning  from  him  and 
Miss  Patty.  All  of  which,  in  some  way  marvelous  to 
herself,  she  was  able  to  answer  simply  and  truthfully 
without  betraying  Hardwick.  It  seemed  incredible 
that  they  did  not  read  in  her  face  what  was  written 
large  all  over  her  consciousness.  She  was  still  vibrat- 
ing with  the  shock  of  a  discovery,  the  terror  of  be- 
trayal, the  thrill  of  a  caress  from  firm  and  tender  lips, 
and  above  all,  shame  that  this  last  had,  for  a  moment, 
given  her  more  happiness  than  she  had  ever,  yes,  ever, 
known.  She  felt  abased  as  a  traitor  to  her  past,  pres- 
ent, and  future,  to  her  country  and  her  God. 

That  she  should  be  trembling  with  all  this  emotion, 
which  she  felt  glowing  in  her  eyes  and  burning  on  her 
cheeks,  unperceived  by  her  uncle  and  aunt,  was  as  if 
they  were  blind  in  a  flood  of  light.  To  carry  herself 
with  apparent  calmness  through  this  experience  was  a 
hard  strain  upon  her  tact  and  endurance.  She  thought 
the  time  would  never  come  for  Larry  and  Miss  Patty 


218  JACK  HORNER. 

to  go  to  bed  ;  and  all  the  while  she  was  wondering 
how  best  to  enlighten  her  aunt  as  to  the  fact  that 
Hardwick  was  gone,  and  that  he  was  not  —  a  Con- 
federate soldier  ! 

The  old  lady  was  so  agitated,  it  seemed  a  pity  to  give 
her  another  shock  that  night.  Madelaine  drew  a 
long  breath  as  she  decided  to  wait  until  morning.  It 
was  a  reprieve  for  her  aunt  and  herself. 


XXIIL 

THE   DEWDROP   ON   THE   ROSE. 

Soon  after  breakfast  the  next  morning,  before  Miss 
Patty  had  learned  that  Hardwick  was  gone,  Madelaine, 
having  taken  precautions  that  she  should  be  the  first 
to  tell  her,  went  into  the  nursery,  where  the  old  lady 
was  looking  after  Jack,  who  was  growing  and  adding 
words  to  his  vocabulary  every  day.  He  was  being 
dressed  to  go  out,  and  while  the  nurse  got  ready  to  ac- 
company him,  Miss  Patty  gave  the  finishing  touch  to 
his  toilet  by  putting  on  his  army  overcoat  and  cap. 
It  was  something  of  a  job  to  get  the  roistering  child 
into  his  clothes.  He  was  beginning  to  feel  his  strength 
and  the  all  over  boyish  delight  in  resisting  authority. 
He  plunged  and  kicked  and  roared  and  squealed  with 
native  naughtiness,  while  Miss  Patty,  secretly  rejoicing 
in  his  strength  of  wind  and  limb,  tried  to  get  his  chubby 
arms  into  his  sleeves.  The  coat  with  its  artillery 
trappings  was  always  a  bone  of  contention.  Its  red 
lining  and  bright  buttons  seemed  to  suggest  to  Jack 
that  it  was  something  to  play  with,  and  not  to  wear. 
The  legend  on  its  buttons.  Sic  semper  tyrannis,  he  car- 
ried out  as  far  as  he  could  in  trying  to  get  the  better 
of  Miss  Patty.  The  scuffle  between  the  big-lunged, 
strong  -  fisted  baby  and  the  gentle  old  spinster  always 


220  Jack  horner. 

amused  Madelaine.  Jack  went  at  it  with  his  head, 
hands,  heels,  and  few  sharp  white  teeth,  while  Miss 
Patty  tried  to  parry  his  lunges  with  her  little  withered 
hands  and  purring  entreaties.  It  is  proverhially  hard 
to  teach  old  dogs  new  tricks,  and  Miss  Patty's  baby 
talk,  like  other  languages  learned  late  in  life,  although 
satisfactory  to  herself,  was  a  halting  performance  which 
never  failed  to  make  Madelaine  laugh.  The  pale  smile 
with  which  she  listened  to  it  on  this  occasion  was  the 
ghost  of  her  usual  merriment.  Since  yesterday  the  point 
of  view  had  altered,  as  if  life  had  suddenly  changed 
front  and  shown  a  diiferent  face.  Jack,  to  whose  won- 
derful beauty  she  now  held  the  key,  and  thought  her- 
self blind  not  to  have  perceived  its  origin  before ; 
Jack's  father,  whom  she  had  believed  to  be  a  soldier 
fighting  for  the  South ;  Miss  Patty,  whose  patriotic 
soul  rejoiced  in  the  conviction  that  she  was  rearing  a 
champion  for  the  sacred  cause,  had  all  changed  posi- 
tions. Even  the  little  Confederate  coat,  into  which 
Miss  Patty  had  stitched  so  much  love  and  loyalty,  was 
a  ghastly  mistake. 

"  Hold  still,  deary,  and  let  me  put  on  your  itty  toat," 
her  aunt  was  saying,  when  she  entered,  unperceived. 
Jack,  to  prevent  his  arms  being  captured,  had  thrown 
them  round  the  old  lady's  neck,  and  squeezing  it  cap- 
tured her,  body  and  soul.  The  touch  of  his  little  hands 
and  baby  face,  pressed  like  a  cool,  fresh  flower  against 
her  faded  cheek,  was  sweeter  than  a  lover's.  She  was 
in  no  hurry  to  be  released,  but  thought  it  proper  to  ex- 
postulate. 

"  Come,  now,  and  put  it  on  for  Aunt  Patty.  It 's  a 
real  boomerladdie's  toat  like  your  father's. 


THE  DEWDROP   ON  THE  ROSE.  221 

"  '  My  daddy  's  a  soldier, 

My  mammy 's  a  queen, '  "  — 

her  quavering  voice  breaking  into  song  over  the  nur- 
sery distich,  which  Jack  must  have  found  irresistibly- 
funny,  for  he  showed  all  his  teeth,  and  squealed  like  a 
pig  with  delight. 

She  caught  sight  of  Mrs.  Key,  although  too  preoc- 
cupied to  notice  her  pale,  grave  face. 

"  Come,  Madelaine,  and  help  me  to  get  this  rascal 
into  his  coat.  He  makes  me  waste  more  time  than 
enough.  I  have  n't  seen  after  my  other  charge. 
Captain  Ilardwick,  this  morning.  Last  night,  I  was 
so  upset  by  the  row,  I  did  n't  even  ask  about  him. 
Have  you  heard  how  he  is  to-day  ?  " 

"  Not  to-day." 

Miss  Patty  looked  up. 

"  Why,  what 's  the  matter  ?  Has  anything  hap- 
pened ?  " 

Mrs.  Key  went  and  knelt  down  by  her  aunt,  and  in- 
voluntarily kissed  the  beautiful  child  on  her  lap.  Then 
she  blushed,  and  drew  back  as  if  a  bee  had  stung  hei". 
Even  kissing  Jack  had  come  to  have  a  nevv  meaning. 
The  sight  of  his  broad,  masterful  brow  and  the  curve 
of  his  perfect  lips  made  her  feel  as  if  she  were  commit- 
ting a  great  sin  in  miniature. 

"■  Take  care,  boy  !  "  cried  Miss  Patty  to  Jack,  who 
was  plunging  as  if  he  wanted  to  touch  his  head  with 
his  heels.  "  Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  strong  ?  I 
hope  his  'father  in  the  field '  fights  as  well." 

"  Aunt,"  softly  whispered  Madelaine,  to  whom  the 
situation  became  every  moment  more  trying,  "  I  came 
to  tell  you  about  Captain  Ilardwick." 


222  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Why,  is  he  any  worse  to-day  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Madelaine  very  slowly,  endeavoring  to 
divulge  the  truth  as  gently  as  possible,  while  her  firm 
hands  got  Jack  into  his  coat  before  he  knew  it.  "  Cap- 
tain Hardwick  felt  better  last  night,  and  came  down 
into  the  parlor  for  a  while." 

"  You  don't  say  so.  Then  he  must  have  felt  much 
stronger  than  when  I  left  him.  But  you  look  so  grave 
about  it.     Did  it  hurt  him  in  any  way  ?  " 

"  No  —  that  is,  I  think  not.     But  he  has  gone  away." 

"  Gone  away  ?  "  echoed  Miss  Patty,  bewildered  and 
hurt,  her  heart  still  sore  over  Mrs.  Manning's  desertion. 
"  I  don't  —  don't  understand.  Why,  he  did  n't  even 
tell  me  good-by." 

"  I  know,  aunt,  but  he  thought  about  you.  He  said 
he  was  afraid  you  could  never  forgive  him." 

Their  voices  had  become  so  grave  and  preoccupied 
that  Jack  with  his  clear,  innocent  eyes  looked  from 
one  to  the  other,  wondering  why  he  was  all  of  a  sudden 
forgotten.  His  coat  ceased  to  be  of  interest  now  there 
was  no  one  to  fight  with  him  about  it. 

"  Why  did  he  do  it,  then  ?  "  asked  Miss  Patt^',  in  a 
grieved  tone. 

"  He  was  obliged  to  go,  aunt.  It  was  a  matter  of 
life  and  death." 

"  111  as  he  is,  I  think  it  was  a  matter  of  certain 
death  to  go.  The  doctors  had  not  pronounced  him  out 
of  danger." 

"  It  was  more  dangerous  to  stay."  Madelaine's  low, 
significant  tone  sent  a  chill  to  Miss  Patty's  heart. 
Her  face  paled  with  undefined  dread. 

"  Madelaine,  my  child,"  she  said  with  trembling  lip, 


THE  DEWDROP   ON  THE  ROSE.  223 

"I  don't  understand.  Don't  keep  me  in  suspense. 
What  has  happened  ?  " 

Madelaine  buried  her  face  in  her  aunt's  shoulder, 
and  Jack  seized  her  soft  hair  as  a  new  plaything. 

"  Aunt,  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you.  I  am  afraid 
you  will  never  forgive  me,  either." 

Miss  Patty's  face  became  more  and  more  perplexed, 
and  her  heart  throbbed  more  and  more  anxiously. 
She  prayed  for  patience  and  waited. 

"Aunt,"  began  Madelaine  again,  "you  know  the 
mob  round  the  house  calling  for  a  Yankee  spy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  wearily. 

"  It  was  Captain  Hardwick  they  wanted." 

Miss  Patty  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  She  even 
laughed. 

"  Captain  Hardwick  a  spy  ?  A  Georgian  a  Yan- 
kee ?     That 's  a  good  joke  !  " 

Madelaine  groaned.  It  was  even  harder  than  she 
thought. 

"  Aunt  dear,"  drawing  the  old  lady's  gray  head 
down  to  hers,  "  we  have  been  deceived,  or  rather 
mistaken.     Captain  Hardwick  is  not  a  Georgian." 

"  Nonsense  !  Have  n't  I  letters  from  his  mother 
and  sisters  in  Augusta  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  there  was  a  Captain  Hardwick,  but  "  — 

"  But  ?  "  more  and  more  agitated. 

"  This  is  not  the  man." 

Miss  Patty  looked  petrified.  For  some  minutes  she 
could  not  speak.  Could  the  young  fellow  upon  whom 
she  had  lavished  so  much  kindness  be  an  impostor  ? 
she  was  thinking  sadly.  Even  now  she  was  far  from 
suspecting  the  truth. 


224  JACK  HORNER. 

"  He  's  at  least  a  soldier,  isn't  he  ?  "  in  a  faint  voice. 

"  Yes." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  " 

''  He  is  —  Aunt,  the  mob  was  I'ight,"  sobbed  Mad- 
elaine,  heart-broken  to  give  another  blow  to  the  old 
lady  whose  tender-heartedness  had  been  so  imposed 
upon. 

It  was  some  time  before  Miss  Patty  grasped  her 
meaning. 

"  The  —  mob  —  was  —  right,"  she  repeated  mechan- 
ically, becoming  very  pale.  Then,  as  the  truth  began 
to  dawn  upon  her,  the  light  went  out  of  her  eyes  and 
the  sunny  old  face  looked  gray  and  haggard.  "  Made- 
laine,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  so  changed  and  horror- 
stricken  that  Madelaine  would  not  have  recognized  it, 
and  Jack  began  to  whimper,  — "  Madelaine,  do  you 
mean  —  ccni  you  mean,"  pleadingly,  with  a  remnant 
of  hope,  "  that  the  man  is  a  Yankee  spy  ?  " 

Madelaine  threw  her  arms  round  her  aunt,  murmur- 
ing in  a  v6ice  choked  with  tears, — 

"  Yes,  aunt,  he  is  a  Yankee,  a  Federal  officer,  but 
not  a  spy  ;  oh,  believe  me,  not  a  spy  !  " 

"  Then,  in  God's  name,  what  was  he  doing  here  ?  " 
placing  a  trembling  hand  on  Jack's  innocent  head  to  be 
sure  that  something  true  was  left  her.  The  movement 
pierced  Madelaine's  heart  afresh.  Every  step,  like 
walking  over  burning  ploughshares,  was  more  agonizing. 

"  O  aunt,  you  will  understand,  —  you,  who  are  so 
loving,  will  understand,  —  when  I  tell  you  he  came  for 
love." 

The  blood  rushed  to  Miss  Patty's  face.  This  was 
the  last  straw. 


THE  DEW  DROP   ON  THE  ROSE.  225 

"  Love  !  "  she  cried,  with  the  terrible  wrath  of  gen- 
tleness. "  God  forgive  me  !  but  it  is  not  love  a  Yankee 
soldier  will  find  in  my  house.  Love  ?  "  her  thoughts 
taking  a  new  turn.  Nothing  now  was  too  horrible  to 
suppose.  "  Love  for  whom  ?  Was  it  for  Mrs.  Man- 
ning ?  Do  you  mean  to  say  there  were  two  Yankee 
spies  under  my  roof,  eating  my  bread,  betraying  my 
friendship  "  — 

It  was  Madelaine's  turn  to  blush,  which  she  did  furi- 
ously. 

"  Aunt,  you  forget.  Mrs.  Manning  is  a  married 
woman.  I  could  not  urge  that  kind  of  thing  as  an 
extenuation  of  his  impx'udence." 

"  Lnprudence  !  "  gasped  Miss  Patty.  "  Madelaine, 
are  you  insane,  or  am  I,  that  I  should  hear  you  speak  of 
treachery  as  imprudence  ?  You  know,"  with  a  pain- 
ful catch  in  her  voice,  "  how  I  have  loved  that  young 
man ;  hoM-^  I  have  denied  myself  that  he  might  have 
things  to  win  him  to  eat  and  medicine  worth  a  hundred 
times  its  weight  in  gold  ;  how  I  have  watched  by  his 
bed  night  and  day,  and  plead  with  God  that  he  might 
not  die." 

"  I  know,  aunt,  I  know,"  said  Madelaine,  in  a  low, 
faltering  voice,  unconsciously  pleading  as  for  herself  ; 
"  but  you  would  have  done  it  all  the  same  if  you 
had  known.  You  could  never  forget  the  command, 
'  If  thine  enemy  hunger,  feed  him,'  nor  who  it  is 
that  said,  '  Pray  for  them  who  despitefully  use  you.'  " 

"  My  enemy,  yes,  but  this  man  is  my  country's  en- 
emy ;  and  he  came  —  he  came  in  the  guise  of  a  friend. 
Love  ?  You  say  he  came  for  love.  Do  men  come 
into  a  land  for  love  with  fire  and  sword  ?     Tell  me,  in 


226  '       JACK  HORNER. 

God's  name,  what  love  he  came  for,  and  I  will  try  to 
understand." 

This  was  the  hardest  part  of  Madelaine's  task.  The 
old  lady,  who  held  fast  to  the  frightened  child,  was  ter- 
ribly shaken.  Painful  excitement  seemed  to  have 
done  the  work  of  years.  She  was  frightfully  pale  and 
tremulous,  and  spoke  with  difficulty. 

Madelaine  did  not  know  how  to  begin.  Finally,  she 
put  her  hand  under  Jack's  chin  and  raised  his  face  un- 
til they  both  looked  down  upon  it.  Big  tears  stood  in 
his  eyes  and  his  lips  quivered.  He  looked  so  troubled 
that  Miss  Patty's  face  softened. 

"  Yes,  I  love  the  child,  and  I  hope  I  shall  have  left 
the  world  before  he  is  old  enough  to  be  ungrateful. 
But  what  has  this  got  to  do  with  the  matter  ?  "  impa- 
tiently. 

"  You  love  him  so  much  that  if  I  were  to  take  him 
away  with  me  into  the  country,  you  would  come  after 
him,  would  n't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Madelaine,  yes,  I  believe  I  should  ;  but  don't 
torture  me  with  suspense.  Why  talk  about  Jack, 
whom  I  have  safe  in  my  arms  and  who  can  never  be  a 
Yankee,  when  I  want  to  know  about  the  man  Avho  has 
laid  me  open  to  the  charge  of  harboring  a  Yankee 
spy  ?  " 

Madelaine  groaned. 

"  O  aunt,"  she  sobbed,  "  why  will  you  not  under- 
stand ?  Why  are  you  so  single-hearted  and  unsuspi- 
cious that  you  can  never  see  anything  not  directly  under 
your  eyes  ?  I  am  trying  to  lead  you  to  see  that  if  for 
love  you  would  follow  Jack  into  the  country,  one  who 
loves  him  more  than  you  do  would  seek  him  here." 


THE  DEW  DROP   ON  THE  ROSE.  227 

"  Madelaine  !  " 

"  Captain  Ilarchvick  was  not  a  spy,"  rising  and 
standing  before  her  aunt  with  clasped  hands.  "He 
came  here  not  for  treachery,  but  for  the  great  love  a 
father  bears  his  son." 

"  Madelaine !  " 

"  O  aunt,  don't  look  so  !  You  frighten  me  !  See, 
Jack  is  frightened  too  !  "  Miss  Pritchard  rose  and 
tremblingly  placed  the  boy  on  the  floor,  and  brushed 
her  dress  where  he  had  come  in  contact  with  it. 

The  child,  believing  he  was  being  punished,  began 
to  cry,  and  stretching  out  his  hands  sobbed,  "  Be 
dood,  be  dood,"  his  baby  formula  of  penitence  for  sins 
known  and  unknown. 

Miss  Patty's  face  quivered  for  a  moment  and  then 
became  rigid.  She  turned  her  head  resolutely  away 
from  the  child,  whose  brimming  eyes  and  heaving 
breast  showed  how  his  baby  heart  was  grieved.  Misery 
seemed  to  have  frozen  love  and  pity  out  of  her  cold 
glance.  Madelaine,  awed  to  see  the  gentle,  loving 
woman  turned  suddenly  as  if  to  stone,  cried,  — 

"  Dear  aunt !  " 

"  Madelaine,"  not  heeding  the  cry,  "  how  did  the 
man  escape  ?  " 

Madelaine  slipped  to  the  floor,  and  clasping  her  aunt 
round  the  knees,  confessed ;  and  no  confessional  ever 
witnessed  a  harder  soul  struggle  than  hers  to  say,  — 

"  Aunt,  I  helped  him  to  escape." 

Miss  Patty  shrank  aAvay  from  her  niece,  and  drew 
her  skirts  aside  as  if  from  contamination. 

"  Let  me  pass,  please." 

Her  tone  was  so  cold  and  hard  that  Madelaine  rose, 


228  JACK  HORNER. 

staggering  as  from  a  blow.  Grieved  and  trembling,  she 
stood  aside  to  let  her  aunt  pass.  Just  then  the  nurse 
came  back.     Miss  Patty  turned  to  her. 

"  Ellen,  take  that  coat  off  the  boy,  and  put  on  his 
other  one," 

Ellen  looked  astonished.  She  had  never  heard  Miss 
Patty  speak  of  Jack  without  an  endearing  ej>ithet  or 
a  softening  of  the  voice.  She  saw  that  something 
serious  was  the  matter  and  proceeded  to  obey  without 
delay. 

When  Jack,  with  many  tears  and  struggles,  had  been 
divested  of  his  Confederate  coat,  Miss  Patty  took  it. 
It  was  still  warm  from  his  body  and  fragrant  with  the 
odor  of  violets  kept  among  his  clothing.  Miss  Patty 
turned  a  shade  paler.  The  warmth  and  fragrance 
nearly  upset  her  stony  composure.  Her  countenance, 
all  broken  up,  quivered  for  a  moment  between  tears 
and  smiles  that  were  sadder  than  tears.  Then  catching 
sight  of  the  buttons  on  the  coat,  she  was  suddenly  re- 
minded of  what  she  had  nearly  forgotten,  the  Yankee 
button  in  Jack's  hand  the  night  he  was  found. 

She  rallied  immediately  ;  with  a  catch  in  her  breath, 
she  bravely  folded  up  the  little  garment  which  had 
been  the  sign  of  so  many  hopes,  and  took  it  with  her. 

She  had  never  before  left  Jack  without  a  smile  and 
a  kiss.  He  did  not  understand  why  she  should  do  so 
now.  He  held  out  his  hands  toward  the  door  after 
she  had  gone,  crying  "  Be  dood,  be  dood,"  tears  run- 
ning over  his  face  clear  and  bright  like  morning  dew, 
soon  to  be  dried.  The  tears  wrung  from  her  aged  eyes 
by  disappointed  hopes  were  like  November  rain  falling 
on  sodden  earth  and  withered  leaves. 


XXIV. 

ONE   CHANCE   IN   A  HUNDRED. 

The  shock  of  Madelalne's  intelligence,  gently  as  she 
tried  to  break  it,  proved  too  much  for  her  aunt,  who 
had  not  been  well  for  some  time.  Miss  Patty's  jjride 
gave  way  when  she  got  to  her  own  room  and  shut  her- 
self in.  There  she  wept  bitterly.  Her  life  had  been 
full  of  disappointed  hopes,  but  this  last  was  the  bit- 
terest because  she  felt  it  was  the  last.  The  sapless 
branch  does  not  put  forth  new  shoots,  nor  the  aged 
heart  new  hopes.  The  spring  of  life  was  gone.  The 
old  lady  kept  her  bed  for  some  days,  and  Madelaine 
thought  she  was  going  to  die.  But  she  struggled  back 
to  life  again,  although  she  was  never  quite  the  same 
afterward.  It  was  agreed  between  Madelaine  and 
herself  that  the  matter  should  not  be  spoken  of  again. 
What  had  been  done  could  not  be  undone,  and  further 
notoriety  would  only  make  matters  worse. 

Even  Larry  was  not  informed  until  long  afterwards 
that  there  had  really  been  a  Yankee  officer  in  the 
house.  The  affair,  which  was  so  serious  to  a  few,  soon 
became  of  small  importance  beside  events  which  con- 
cerned the  destiny  of  nations.  Miss  Patty  decided 
that  as  she  had  promised  God  and  herself  to  take  care 
of  the  child  until  the  war  ended,  it  was  her  duty  to 
fultill  the  promise.    But  it  was  with  a  difference.     The 


230  JACK  HORNER. 

boy  who  had  been  her  pride  and  joy  in  the  present 
and  hope  for  the  future  was  now  the  source  of  keenest 
anguish,  none  the  less  that  she  could  not  help  loving 
him.  Her  heart  had  been  pierced  in  its  tenderest 
spot.  She  did  not  go  to  his  nursery  now,  nor  caress 
him,  nor  call  him  by  endearing  names,  although  her 
poor  old  heart  ached  at  the  privation.  She  was  kind 
and  patient  and  generous  to  Jack,  but  she  could  not 
forget  that  his  father,  whom  she  had  so  long  believed 
to  be  fighting  for  the  cause,  was  fighting  against  it. 

Not  many  days  passed  after  Hardwick's  escape 
before  the  opening  of  May.  INIay,  the  month  of  mild- 
ness and  bloom,  of  renewed  life  and  springing  hopes, 
came  round  again,  bringing  the  battle  of  Chancellors- 
ville  and  the  death  of  Stonewall  Jackson.  There, 
a  great  blow  fell  which  took  the  flavor  from  victoiy. 
Its  shock  was  felt  wherever  the  English  tongue  tells 
the  story  of  valor  or  recounts  the  heroes  of  the  Eng- 
lish-speaking race.  At  Richmond,  it  pierced  the  na- 
tion's heart,  and  the  South  mourned  as  if  in  every 
house  the  firstborn  lay  dead.  "  There  was  a  great  cry 
throughout  the  land,  such  as  there  was  none  like  it, 
nor  shall  be  like  it  any  more."  It  was  as  if  the  pillar 
of  fire  which  led  the  children  of  Israel  had  been  ex- 
tinguished, leaving  them  without  light  and  without 
hope. 

The  day  arrived  when  all  that  was  mortal  of  the 
great  soldier  was  borne  through  Richmond  on  its  Avay 
to  burial  in  his  mountain  home.  The  whole  town 
followed  his  bier,  and  every  man  felt  himself  to  be 
chief  mourner.  The  people's  grief,  too  deep  for  words, 
was  hushed  as  if  a  pall  had  fallen  over  the  town.     The 


ONE   CHANCE  IN  A  HUNDRED.  231 

moving  mass   of  mourners  was  mute  as  if  the  dumb 
followed  the  dead. 

Will  any  one  who  mingled  in  that  train  ever  forget 
the  silence  which  told  a  nation's  sorrow  ?  —  silence 
broken  only  at  intervals  by  the  wail  and  blare  of  a 
funeral  march.  There  was  no  elaborate  ceremonial. 
There  had  been  little  time  or  heart  for  trappings.  But 
no  pageant  ever  touched  the  fountain  of  tears  like  that 
outpouring  of  a  heart-broken  people.  There  was 
no  military  pomp  beyond  a  remnant  of  soldiers  too 
maimed  and  broken  for  active  service.  More  rags 
than  pennons  fluttered  in  the  soft  May  air.  Jackson's 
riderless  horse,  immediately  behind  his  master's  body, 
bore  his  faded  overcoat  with  his  sword  and  pistols. 
Every  heart  swelled  and  every  eye  filled  afresh  at 
sight  of  that  faithful  companion.  With  bowed  head 
and  pawing  hoof,  he  seemed  to  feel  he  would  never 
again  bear  his  master,  never  again  thrill  with  him  in 
the  shock  of  battle,  nor  in  the  fierce  joy  of  victory. 
It  was  the  time  of  buds  and  blossoms.  Nature  pre- 
sented one  of  those  sharp  contrasts  to  human  feeling 
which  so  often  seems  to  mock  at  human  woe.  Never 
had  Richmond  looked  more  lovely  than  on  the  fair 
May  day  when  Jackson's  body,  having  been  borne  to 
the  capitol,  lay  beneath  the  dome,  where  it  was  visited 
by  a  ceaseless  throng  of  mourners  from  morning  until 
sunset.  Never  lias  a  face  been  so  impressed  on  mem- 
ory as  his  on  at  least  one  of  those  who  pressed  round 

his  bier,  to  look  at  him  for  the  first  and  last  time, a 

strong  and  noble  face,  darkly  sunburned  below  the 
brows,  fair  and  smooth  as  a  child's  where  his  forehead 
had  been  protected  by  his  soldier's  cap.     His  counte- 


232  JACK  HORNER. 

nance  bespoke  perfect  repose,  but  even  death  failed  to 
conquer  the  indomitable  expression  of  his  firm  lips  and 
iron  jaw.  We  felt  that  we  were  looking  upon  a  hero, 
one  of  the  world's  heroes,  one  of  God's  heroes.  Every- 
body who  came  brought  flowers  as  tokens  of  love, 
and,  as  they  veere  dropped  silently  upon  the  warrior's 
breast  and  about  his  bier,  the  mound  grew  and  grew 
like  an  ancient  cairn,  and  when  the  sun  went  down 
we  left  him  sleeping,  covered  with  all  that  was  sweetest 
and  loveliest  of  the  luxuriant  May. 

Besides  the  great  calamity  that  befell  the  nation  at 
Chancellorsville,  like  all  battles  it  sent  bereavement  to 
many  hearts  and  clothed  many  homes  in  mourning. 
Another  blow  in  less  degree  than  the  death  of  Jackson 
was  the  loss  of  his  brillant  young  chief  of  artillery, 
Hugh  Dallas.  Among  the  ghastly  mistakes  at  Chan- 
cellorsville, he,  being  badly  wounded  and  left  for  dead 
on  the  field,  was  taken  prisoner.  As  soon  as  this  news 
reached  Mrs.  Key,  she  decided  to  make  an  effort  to 
go  to  him  at  all  risks.  She  had  always  wanted  to  do 
something  for  him,  to  show  him  how  much  she  cared 
for  him,  and  here  was  an  opportunity  to  testify  her 
loyalty  and  devotion.  She  could  not  do  less  for  the 
man  whom  she  intended  to  marry,  and  who  but  for  an 
accident  would  even  now  be  her  husband,  than  she 
had  done  for  the  stranger  Hardwick. 

She  was  so  bent  on  carrying  out  her  intention,  and 
so  sure  her  family  would  consider  it  quixotic  and  try 
to  dissuade  her  from  it,  that  she  did  not  mention  it  to 
them  until  all  her  arrangements  were  made.  She 
learned  that  Dallas  had  been  taken  with  other  ])ris- 
oners  to  Washington.     To  reach  him  would  require  a 


ONE   CHANCE  IN  A  HUNDRED.  233 

long,  roundabout,  perilous  journey.  The  difficulties 
in  the  way  made  her  more  determined. 

She  would  have  to  run  the  blockade,  following  the 
ignoble  army  of  martyrs  who  drove  a  thriving  trade, 
and  fattened  on  the  necessities  of  the  people. 

With  more  than  one  river  to  cross,  and  several 
counties  of  weary  Virginia  mud  to  drag  through  in 
springless  wagons  and  dirty  oxcarts  ;  with  having  to 
dodge  the  movements  of  the  enemy,  and  satisfy  detec- 
tive custom  officers,  Mrs.  Key  had  a  wretched  and  de- 
pressing journey.  At  last,  one  stormy  night,  in  the 
small  hours  towards  morning,  she  arrived  at  a  place 
called  Blackford's  Ferry,  from  whence  she  was  to  cross 
the  Potomac.  It  was  one  of  the  regular  ports  of  entry 
opened  by  blockade  runners,  but  it  happened  that  on 
this  occasion  there  were  no  departures  from  the  Vir- 
ginia side.  It  appeared  that  Mrs.  Key  was  to  cross 
the  river  alone  in  an  open  boat,  rowed  by  two  negroes. 
For  the  first  time,  her  heart  failed  her.  There  was 
only  one  dwelling-house  at  Blackfoi'd's  Ferry,  a  sort  of 
tavern,  where  she  stopped  to  get  something  to  eat. 
The  proprietor  she  found  to  be  a  foreigner,  a  swarthy, 
hook-nosed  Spaniard,  with  the  disreputable,  well-oiled 
look  that  southern  Europeans  attain  to  when  in  Amer- 
ica they  aspire  to  be  called  gentlemen,  —  a  type  with 
which  an  American  woman  is  never  in  sympathy.  Mrs. 
Key  flinched  w^hen  she  saw  the  kind  of  person  she  had 
to  deal  with.  What  at  a  little  distance  might  have 
passed  for  flashy  good  looks  became  altogether  sinister 
on  a  nearer  view.  One  of  the  man's  dark  eyes  was 
evidently  artificial,  and  helped  to  make  his  countenance 
forbidding.     This  still,  glassy  eye  seemed  all  the  more 


234  JACK  HORNER. 

still  and  glassy  from  the  excessive  vivacity  of  the  other. 
It  was  another  lively  illustration  of  the  quick  and  the 
dead.  Mi's.  Key  shuddered  when  the  quick,  with  evi- 
dent admiration,  concentrated  its  gaze  on  her,  while  its 
lifeless  fellow  stared  blankly  at  the  wall  beyond  her. 
He  evidently  mistook  her  for  one  of  the  women  block- 
ade runners,  who  vied  with  the  men  in  the  profitable 
pursuit  of  smuggling.  The  alternative  was  presented 
of  remaining  at  this  place  until  morning,  or  crossing 
the  wide,  dark  river  on  a  stormy  night,  with  only  two 
negro  oarsmen  as  companions.  She  decided  on  the 
latter.  It  seemed  the  less  disagreeable  of  the  two, 
and  she  was  feverislily  anxious  to  get  on.  Every 
moment  counted. 

She  was  drinking  a  cup  of  coffee  before  embarking, 
when  her  attention  was  arrested  by  a  few  words  be- 
tween the  Spaniard  and  a  negro  wagon-dx'iver,  who, 
whip  in  hand,  appeared  at  the  door.  Fi'om  what  the 
latter  said,  she  learned  that  she  was  to  have  a  fellow- 
passenger. 

Some  one  who  had  just  arrived  desired  to  cross  the 
river  at  once,  and  wanted  to  know  if  there  would  be 
room  in  the  boat  about  to  start. 

Mrs.  Key's  spirits  sensibly  lightened  at  this  news. 
She  devoutly  wished  the  passenger  would  prove  to  be 
a  woman.  The  women  she  had  encountered  on  her  way 
had  been  less  objectionable  than  the  men.  She  was 
disappointed  in  her  hope.  A  masculine  tread  on  the 
outside  steps  made  her  draw  down  her  veil,  and  the 
next  moment  the  man  whom  she  still  thought  of  as 
Hardwick  entered.  Her  heart  leaped  into  her  throat 
and  then  seemed  to  stand  still.     Heavily  veiled,  and 


ONE   CHANCE  IN  A  HUNDRED.  235 

enveloped  in  an  old-fashioned  cloak  of  her  father's, 
she  looked  as  imjiersonal  as  a  lay  figure  ;  but  as  it  was 
the  lay  figure  of  a  woman,  Hard  wick  took  off  his  hat. 
A  flaring,  ill-smelling  oil-lamp  in  the  room  lit  up  his 
curly  head  and  high-bred  features  in  as  vivid  contrast 
to  the  dark,  greasy  countenance  of  the  proprietor,  who 
seemed  never  to  take  off  his  sheeny  hat,  as  if  they  had 
been  representatives  of  two  different  worlds.     Hard- 
wick,  who  had  got  rid  of  his  Confederate  uniform  and 
wore  citizen's  dress,  was  still  pale  and  thin  from  his 
recent  illness  ;  so  pale  that  Mrs.  Key  thought  he  must 
have  just  risen  from  a  sick-bed.     Fortune  had  favored 
him  since  they  parted,  for,  like  herself,  he  had  arrived 
at  the  last  stage  of  running  the  blockade.     Once  across 
the  Potomac,  and  he  was  in  the  Union.    The  proprietor 
having  extorted  from  him  an  exorbitant  sum  for  get- 
ting him  across  the  river,  Hardwick  turned  to  leave 
the  room.     Mrs.  Key  rose  and  began   pulling  on  her 
gloves.    Her  hands,  emerging  from  her  cloak,  were  fair 
and  beautiful  as  lilies  against  her  black  dress.     Their 
gleaming   whiteness    caught    the    eyes    of    both   men. 
Hardwick   glanced    away.     The    Spaniard's  glittering 
eye  feasted    on    their  beauty    as   long   as   they   were 
visible. 

^  The  boat  landing  was  a  hundred  yards  off.  The 
night  was  dark,  and  it  was  raining.  The  negro  boat- 
men were  called,  and  one  with  a  lantern  led  the  way. 
Hardwick  and  Mrs.  Key,  side  by  side,  followed  silently 
over  the  mud  and  stones  of  a  wretched  footpath. 
They  were  in  the  flattest  of  flat  countries.  The  earth 
around  them  stretched  away  in  illimitable  fields  of 
darkness  to  where  a  dull  gray  line  indicated  the  hori- 


236  JACK  HORNER. 

zon.  The  wind  blew  in  gusts,  and  the  sky  was  black 
with  scudding  clouds.  Before  them  the  lantern,  sway- 
ing with  the  negro's  rolling  gait,  threw  now  here,  now 
there,  patches  of  light  more  bewildering  than  darkness. 
Once  Mrs.  Key  stumbled,  and  would  have  fallen  but 
for  Hardwick's  helping  hand.  Under  her  cloak  and 
veil  she  trembled  and  shivered,  and  wondered  how  long 
she  would  be  able  to  keep  herself  unknown  to  him. 
It  seemed  strange  that  the  very  beating  of  her  heart 
did  not  betray  her.  The  memory  of  his  kiss  was  like 
a  drawn  sword  between  her  and  him.  It  made  it 
impossible  for  them  to  be  on  the  plane  of  ordinary 
acquaintances. 

As  long  as  it  seemed  certain  they  would  never  meet 
again,  that  daring  kiss  was  only  a  memory  whose  de- 
light was  dead  and  impotent  as  the  perfume  of  last 
year's  roses.  Now  that  they  were  together,  it  was 
regenerate  and  full  of  the  far-reaching  possibilities  of 
life.     Madelaine  hated  him  for  that  kiss. 

She  felt  herself  in  a  horribly  painful  position.  As 
she  wended  her  weary  way  over  the  stony  path,  she 
wondered  if  there  had  ever  before  been  such  a  com- 
bination of  circumstances.  She  prayed  that  she  might 
not  betray  herself  until  they  reached  the  other  side, 
when  Hardwick  would  go  his  way  and  she  hers,  and 
he  would  never  know  she  had  been  so  near  to  him.  It 
would  be  almost  miraculous  to  do  this,  but  she  would 
strive  for  it  with  all  the  power  of  which  she  was 
capable. 


XXV. 


When  Hardwick  and  Mrs.  Key  had  taken  their 
places  in  the  stern  of  the  little  boat,  which  danced  like 
a  cockle  shell  on  the  rough  water,  Mrs.  Key  felt  more 
secure.  Although  they  sat  side  by  side,  it  seemed  pos- 
sible to  make  the  other  shore  without  betraying  her- 
self. There  was  no  occasion  to  speak.  Hardwick  was 
absorbed  in  meditation.  The  night  seemed  darker  the 
farther  the  boat,  with  muffled  oars,  pushed  from  shore. 
Madelaine  sat  motionless,  looking  steadily  through  her 
veil  in  the  direction  of  the  opposite  shore,  which  they 
approached  but  slowly.  Blockade  running  required 
infinite  caution  in  eluding  suspicious  craft,  of  which  the 
Potomac  was  full.  At  another  time,  she  Avould  have 
probably  been  alive  to  the  dangers  of  the  passage. 
Now,  she  was  intent  only  on  preserving  her  disguise. 
A  stormy  night,  turbulent  water,  and  revenue  cutters 
were  nothing  to  her  fear  of  being  recognized.  She 
sat  trembling,  conscious  only  of  a  desire  not  to  be  dis- 
covered, when  suddenly  the  oars  paused  and  the  boat 
stood  still.  A  great  rush  of  water  swirled  and  foamed, 
white  as  snow,  about  them.  Overhead  appeared  a  gi- 
gantic shape,  as  if  the  night  had  evolved  something 
blacker,  denser,  more  terrible,  than  itself.  Simultane- 
ously from  the  throats  of  Hardwick  and  the  negroes 
burst  a  deafening  cry,  — 


238  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Starboard,  hard  down  !  " 

The  shape,  the  bowsprit  of  a  great  schooner,  swerved 
aside  at  the  command,  and  the  water  heaving  round 
her  nearly  upset  the  rowboat.  Madelaine,  frightened 
out  of  her  senses,  started  to  her  feet.  Another  lurch 
would  have  sent  her  overboard,  but  that  Hard  wick 
caught  her  by  the  wrist. 

'"  Mrs.  Key,"  alarmed  by  her  hairbreadth  escape, 
"  you  must  not  do  that !  "  replacing  her  in  her  seat 
with  a  strong  hand. 

"  You  know  me  ?  You  knew  me  all  the  time  ?  Oh, 
how  could  that  be  ?  "  she  cried  piteously. 

Her  silence,  her  motionlessness,  her  stifling  veil,  had 
been  to  no  purpose. 

"  I  knew  your  hands,"  said  Hardwick  quietly,  re- 
suming his  place. 

"  My  hands  ?  "  holding  them  up,  encased  in  clumsy, 
home-made  gloves,  and  regarding  them  as  if  they  had 
been  two  black  traitors. 

"  Yes  ;  "  forcing  himself  to  speak  in  quiet,  level  tones 
so  as  not  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  rowers,  but  whose 
repression  made  them  all  the  more  resonant  and  sig- 
nificant to  Madelaine.  "  Did  you  think  I  could  forget 
them  ?  Your  hands  that  day  after  day  gave  me  to  eat 
and  to  drink,  cooled  my  forehead,  smoothed  my  pillow, 
did  everything  for  me  ?  How  could  I  forget  ?  I  know 
every  line  of  them.     I  should  know  them  in  Africa." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  clasping  her  knees  and  looking  dis- 
consolately towards  the  distant  shore.  "  I  ought  not 
to  have  taken  off  my  gloves." 

"  If  I  had  not  seen  your  hands,  I  should  still  liave 
recognized   your  walk,   Mrs.    Key.     As    you    walked 


ENEMIES.  239 

across  the  floor  of  that  dirty  tavern  with  that  beast  of 
a  tavern-keeper  watching  you,  you  reminded  me  of 
Romola.  Brigida,  or  somebody  in  the  book,  says,  '  Let 
Romola  muffle  herself  as  she  will,  she  cannot  disguise 
herself,  for  she  has  that  way  of  walking  like  a  proces- 
sion.' " 

"  I  am  sorry,"  repeated  Madelaine,  removing  her 
veil,  glad  to  get  a  free  breath  of  air,  her  eyes  still 
looking  over  the  rough  water  to  where  a  dark  line  indi- 
cated the  shore  of  Maryland. 

Hardwick,  in  the  murkiness  of  the  night,  could  just 
see  the  fair  oval  of  her  face  shining  out  from  her  black 
wrappings  as  he  said,  — 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  be  sorry,  my  sister." 
Madelaine  started.  "  I  may  be  of  use  to  you  on  the 
other  side.  You  called  me  brother  in  the  Confederacy, 
and  I  will  make  good  the  claim  in  the  Union.  All  that 
a  brother  can  do,  I  will." 

"  I  did  not  call  you  brother  for  my  benefit,"  coldly. 

"  No,  it  was  for  mine,"  —  Madelaine  winced,  — 
"and  that  makes  the  obligation  all  the  more  sacred. 
May  I  ask  why  you  are  going  across  ?  " 

"  To  nurse,  if  I  'm  allowed,  a  Confederate  prisoner, 
badly  wounded." 

"  Your  brother  ?  " 

"  Not  my  brother." 

Hardwick  colored  in  the  darkness.  "  Forgive  me  ; 
I  did  not  mean  to  be  curious,  I  was  only  interested." 

"  There  is  no  need  for  forgiveness.  It  was  a  quite 
natural  supposition ;  but  he  is  more  than  a  brother,  he 
is  the  man  I  'm  going  to  mai'ry,"  she  said  steadily, 
glad  to  define  her  position. 


240  JACK  HORNER. 

To  Hardwick,  her  reply  was  as  incisive  as  a  sword- 
thrust.  For  a  moment  he  felt  transfixed.  He  neither 
moved  nor  spoke. 

In  the  darkness,  Madelaine  was  conscious  of  the 
change  that  came  over  him.  She  knew  just  the  look 
of  pain  and  hopelessness  that  came  into  his  eyes.  He 
could  not  know  her  hands  as  she  knew  his  eyes. 

Hardwick  recovei'ed  in  a  moment.  He  was  no 
longer  an  ill  man  to  whimper  as  a  sick  girl,  like  Caesar 
when  the  fever  was  upon  him.  The  wound  was  to  the 
marrow,  but  he  found  his  voice. 

"  My  sister,"  —  he  began,  delicately  emphasizing  the 
relationship. 

"  Captain  Hardwick,"  seeing  he  paused. 

"  Not  Hardwick,"  he  said  humbly.  "  Would  you 
care  to  know  my  real  name  ?  " 

''  I  should  prefer  not  to  call  you  by  the  name  of  a 
gallant  soldier  who  died  fighting  for  the  South." 

Hardwick  bit  his  lip.  It  was  a  hard  fate  that  made 
this  woman  technically  his  enemy.  He  loved  her  so, 
and  she  dealt  such  cruel  blows. 

"  It  is  natural  you  should  feel  so,"  he  said  gently, 
"  and  I  want  to  tell  you  that  my  name  is  John  Dorset, 
—  Major  Dorset  in  the  army,  Jack  Dorset  at  home." 

Madelaine  shivered.  She  was  conscious  of  regret  at 
the  change.  She  had  so  rejoiced  in  rescuing  the  man 
Hardwick  from  death  that  his  life  seemed  to  have 
become  part  of  hers.  Now,  everything  was  changed. 
Even  the  familiar  household  name,  so  constantly  on  her 
lips  during  his  illness,  was  associated  with  a  dead  man, 
not  a  living  one.  "  Major  Dorset,"  she  said,  and  he 
too  felt  chilled  by  the  change.  Something  which  had 
been  would  be  no  more. 


ENEMIES.  241 

The  name  of  Hardwick  in  his  mind  was  connected 
with  long,  delicious  days  of  convalescence,  when  he  had 
nothing  to  do  but  live,  and  the  golden  hours  were  made 
up  of  seeing  Mrs.  Key's  face,  watching  her  movements, 
and  waiting  for  and  listening  to  her  voice. 

"  Mrs.  Key,"  he  resumed,  "  on  the  other  side  I 
shall  be  able  to  help  you  as  a  sister." 

'•  I  can't  believe,"  interrupted  Madelaine,  "  that  any 
good  will  come  of  my  pretending  to  be  what  I  am  not." 

"  And  yet  you  saved  my  life  by  pretending  for  half 
an  hour  to  be  my  sister." 

It  was  Mrs.  Key's  turn  to  blush  under  cover  of  the 
night.  She  was  silent  so  long  that  Dorset  said  hum- 
bly,- 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  think  no  good  came  of  that  ?  " 

"  That  was  a  wild  impulse  of  the  moment,"  ignoring 
the  interrogation.     "  This  would  be  premeditation." 

"  You  think  to  save  a  man's  life,  like  killing  a  man, 
from  impulse  is  to  be  less  guilty  than  to  do  it  with  pre- 
meditation ?  "  bitterly. 

"  Yes." 

"  Mrs.  Key,  you  say  very  cruel  things." 

"  I  'm  in  a  very  cruel  position,"  impatiently.  "  Who 
could  have  foreseen  our  meeting  again  ?  The  wildest 
imagination  could  not  have  supposed  it  possible." 

"  And  yet  as  we  are  bound  for  the  same  place,  there 
was  one  chance  in  a  hundred  that  we  should  go  to- 
gether ;  and  that  chance  has  been  mine." 


XXVI. 

A    FIERY    FURNACE. 

When  the  boat,  having  escaped  the  perils  of 
weather,  collision,  and  seizure,  arrived  at  the  landing 
on  the  Maryland  side,  Mrs.  Key's  difficulties,  so  far 
from  being  at  an  end  as  she  had  hoped,  where  Dorset 
was  concerned,  seemed  only  to  have  begun.  It  was 
raining  steadily,  and  the  wretciied  place  where  they 
disembarked  was  debatable  ground,  which  at  times 
harbored  Southern  blockade  runners,  and  at  others  was 
exposed  to  the  fire  of  Federal  guns.  A  late  manoeuvre 
had  brought  it  to  this  last  condition.  The  few  houses 
which  composed  the  village  seemed  deserted.  The 
night  was  dark,  and  not  a  living  creature  was  in  sight. 
The  boatmen,  having  deposited  the  passengers  and 
their  slender  baggage,  lost  no  time  in  turning  about 
and  making  for  Blackford's  Ferry. 

Major  Dorset  and  Mrs.  Key  were  left  alone  in  a 
strange  place,  not  knowing  where  to  go,  and  with  no 
means  of  getting  on.     Mrs.  Key  rose  to  the  occasion. 

"  Major  Dorset,"  she  said,  in  tones  which  bore  no 
trace  of  timidity  or  anxiety,  "  had  n't  you  better  leave 
me  here  with  the  bags,  while  you  go  and  see  if  you 
can't  find  some  place  of  shelter  ?  " 

Dorset  was  relieved  that  she  took  the  matter  so 
pluckily. 


A   FIERY  FURNACE.  243 

"No,"  he  said,  in  the  same  matter  -  of  -  fact  way, 
"  I  'm  afraid  to  leave  you  alone.  I  will  take  the  bags, 
and  we  will  go  together  and  look  for  shelter.  I  'm 
afraid  you  are  very  wet." 

'•  Only  my  face.  My  cloak  has  protected  me  other- 
wise." 

Together  they  went  to  the  nearest  and  what  seemed 
the  principal  house  in  the  place,  and  found  it  locked 
and  empty,  but  there  was  a  small  portico  in  front  on 
which  were  one  or  two  rude  chairs.  Dorset  was  glad 
to  find  even  this  much  protection  for  Mrs.  Key.  He 
shook  the  rain  from  her  cloak,  moved  one  of  the  chairs 
to  the  corner  most  sheltered  from  rain  and  wind,  and 
placed  a  traveling  bag  under  her  feet.  Then  be  left 
her,  to  reconnoitre  the  other  shanties  scattered  along 
a  road  straggling  away  from  the  water.  They  were 
all  deserted.  The  place  was  as  desolate  as  Babylon, 
as  deserted  as  a  tomb.     What  was  he  to  do  ? 

He  tried  the  door  of  each  house,  and  found  only 
one  not  locked.  He  entered  this  and  struck  a  match. 
When  his  eyes  had  accommodated  themselves  to  its 
feeble  light,  he  discovered  that  the  door  had  opened 
into  a  room,  and  in  the  room  was  an  oil-lamp.  He 
joyfully  lighted  this  and,  turning  on  the  blaze  to  the 
full,  set  it  in  the  window  that  Mrs.  Key  might  see  it. 
He  felt  encouraged.  Things  do  not  seem  so  bad  when 
one  can  see.  The  room  was  bare  and  cheerless,  but 
it  was  weather  -  tight,  and  there  were  some  chairs. 
Better  than  all,  there  was  a  fireplace,  and  in  a  corner 
were  some  sticks  of  wood.  With  the  aid  of  his  matches 
and  some  papers  scattered  about,  he  started  a  fire. 
Then  he  tried  the  doors  leading  from  the  room  he  was 


244  JACK  nORXER. 

in,  to  see  what  accommodation  the  house  afforded,  and 
found  to  his  dismay  that  they  were  locked  and  the 
keys  gone.  Evidently  it  was  an  oversight  that  the 
front  door  had  been  left  unlocked.  He  was  lucky  to 
have  the  use  of  one  room.  He  turned  to  go  back  to 
Mrs.  Key.  Crossing  a  little  inclosure  in  front  of  the 
house,  his  footsteps  or  the  light  in  the  window  startled 
from  somewhere  a  hen,  that  scuttled  across  his  path 
with  flapping  wings  and  uj^lifted  voice.  It  was  the 
only  bit  of  life  he  encountered.  When  he  got  back  to 
Mrs.  Key,  she  sprang  to  meet  him,  her  voice  almost 
joyous  with  relief. 

"  Oh,  that  light  has  made  me  so  glad  !  You  have 
waked  up  somebody  ?  " 

Dorset's  heart  sank.  It  would  not  do  to  dash  her 
spirits.     There  was  need  for  all  her  courage. 

He  answered  cheerfully,  even  playfully,  "  Yes,  I 
waked  up  one  indignant  female,  who  cackled  her  re- 
sentment at  being  roused." 

"  A  woman  ?  Thank  God !  "  Then,  abashed  at  her 
warmth,  "  It  seems  more  helpful  to  have  a  woman 
about.     Don't  you  think  so .''  "  nervously. 

"  Of  course  it  does." 

"  How  warm  and  bright  the  windows  look  !  Is  there 
a  fire  there?  How  I  long  to  get  to  a  fire  I  "  shivering. 
*'  And  you  ?  You  are  thoroughly  wet.  You  will  be 
glad,  too." 

When  they  reached  the  house  and  Dorset  flung 
open  the  door,  it  was  a  blessed  relief  to  step  from  the 
cold,  wet  night  into  a  warm,  bright  room.  Mrs.  Key 
threw  aside  her  cloak,  and  went  and  knelt  before  the 
fire,  spreading  out  her  hands  to  the  blaze. 


A  FIERY  FURNACE.  245 

"Thank  God  for  shelter,"  she  said,  her  heart  filled 
to  bursting. 

Dorset  stood  by  and  warmed  his  hands.  Mrs.  Key, 
looking  up  at  him,  saw  with  compunction  how  soaking 
wet  were  his  clothes  and  how  delicate  he  still  looked. 

"  This  exposure  is  not  good  for  you,"  she  said,  moved 
by  the  old  care-taking  sjnrit  with  which  she  had  nursed 
Hardwick. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  all  right,  if  I  can  only  make  you  com- 
fortable." 

"  I  shall  get  dry  and  warm  in  a  little  while.  But 
where  is  the  old  woman  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Key,  rising  and 
removing  her  bonnet  and  veil,  which  were  dripping 
with  rain. 

"  The  old  woman  ?  "  returned  Dorset.  "  She  went 
to  bed  again,  and  intimated  she  did  not  wish  to  be 
roused." 

"  Sha'n't  I  see  her  to-night?  "  anxiously. 

"  I  'm  afraid  not.  The  doors  are  locked  ;  "  going  to 
the  doors  and  demonstrating  that  they  could  not  be 
opened. 

Mrs.  Key  turned  pale. 

"•  How  inhospitable  !  Did  you  tell  her  a  lady  was 
with  you  ?  " 

Dorset  was  sorely  puzzled. 

"  I  saw  her  only  for  a  moment.  She  disappeared 
so  quickly,  I  did  not  have  time  to  say  anything,"  he 
stammered. 

"  And  I  shall  have  to  stay  here  until  morning  ?  " 

"  I  'rn  afraid  so,  Mrs.  Key ;  but  things  are  not  so  bad 
as  they  might  be,"  he  said  encouragingly.  '•  I  thought 
at  first  you  would    have  to  spend  the   night   on   the 


246  JACK  HORNER. 

portico.  It  is  something  to  have  a  roof  over  your 
head  and  light  and  fire." 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  very  thankful,"  with  a 
catch  in  her  breath. 

Her  courage  was  beginning  to  ooze  out. 

"  Soldiering  and  blockade  running  require  more 
endurance  than  courage,"  said  Dorset  more  cheerfully 
than  he  felt.  He  was  suffering  for  Mrs.  Key  all  that 
she  suffered,  with  infinite  compassion  and  tenderness 
besides.  *•'  We  shall  have  to  bring  our  imagination  to 
the  position.  It  's  a  great  lightener  of  things.  We 
can  imagine  that  this  is  a  station  house,  and  having 
missed  our  train  we  are  waiting  for  the  next.  I  have 
had  to  wait  hours  in  that  way.  This  is  only  a  varia- 
tion of  the  same  kind  of  annoyance.  We  shall  get  help 
in  the  morning.     It  will  not  be  long  now." 

His  hopeful  words  and  bright,  unembarrassed  man- 
ner went  far  towards  relieving  the  situation. 

Mrs.  Key,  conscious  of  the  tremor  in  her  voice,  could 
not  trust  herself  to  speak. 

Their  positions  had  changed  since  last  they  sat  to- 
gether by  a  fireside.  Then,  she  was  protector  and 
guardian.  Now,  that  role  belonged  to  Dorset,  who  felt 
that  he  would  repay  the  debt,  if  need  be,  with  his 
life. 

Mrs.  Key's  cheeks  were  flushed  by  the  fire  ;  her  rain- 
drenched  hair  was  beginning,  in  the  warm  atmosphere, 
to  wave  in  soft  rings  round  her  face ;  her  hands  lay 
dejectedly  in  her  lap ;  her  eyes,  humid  with  unshed 
tears,  were  bent  on  the  glowing  logs.  She  looked  very 
young  and  fair  and  profoundly  sad.  Dorset  did  not 
know  whether   she    was    more    lovely  so,  or  when  in 


A  FIERY  FURNACE.  247 

buoyant  health  and  spirits  she  ministered  to  hira  in  his 
illness. 

"  The  last  time  I  was  detained  on  a  journey,"  he 
continued,  in  an  easy,  pleasant  manner,  "  there  was  a 
poor  fellow  with  us  on  his  way  to  be  married.  The 
train  had  been  delayed  by  an  accident  sevei'al  hours 
beyond  the  time  appointed  for  the  wedding.  I  never 
saw  a  more  miserable  man.  What  made  matters 
worse,  the  lady  had  jilted  another  fellow  to  marry 
him." 

"  And  don't  you  think  she  deserved  some  punish- 
ment for  that  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Key,  forcing  herself  to 
take  part  in  the  conversation,  as  being  less  embarrass- 
ing than  silence. 

"  Why,  no,  if  she  found  she  did  not  love  the  other 
fellow." 

"  In  a  solemn  compact,"  said  Mrs.  Key,  more  inter- 
ested, "  is  n't  there  a  stage  where  one  is  not  justified  in 
receding  from  the  obligation  ?  " 

Dorset  hesitated  before  he  answered ;  then,  "  In 
most  things,  yes." 

"  And  not  in  the  most  important  ?  It  seems  to  me 
there  would  be  no  faith,  or  confidence,  or  personal 
honor  in  the  world,  if  it  were  not  so." 

"  But  where  the  happiness  of  a  woman's  whole  life 
is  concerned?  "  urged  Dorset. 

"  I  know  that  is  the  plea  always  set  up  by  jilts,  men 
and  women.  But  the  other  party's  happiness  ?  Is  n't 
that  to  be  considered  ?  Besides,  to  be  happy  is  not 
necessary,"  said  Mrs.  Key  sadly,  "  but  to  do  one's  duty 


"  Mrs.  Key,  your  ideal  is  very  high. 


248  JACK  HORNER. 

"  My  ideal  ?  It  is  n't  mine.  It  is  older  than  Chris- 
tianity. David  sang  of  the  righteous  man  as  one  '  who 
sweareth  unto  his  neighbor  and  disappointeth  him  not, 
even  though  it  were  to  his  own  hindrance.'  " 

Mrs.  Key  spoke  warmly.  The  subject,  by  a  strange 
chance,  was  one  on  which  circumstances  had  forced  her 
to  think  and  feel  strongly.  What  she  said  was  the  re- 
sult of  much  mental  conflict.  She  was  glad  to  say  it 
as  giving  form  to  her  convictions.  In  slippery  places, 
one  grasps  more  firmly  one's  support.  Dorset  did  not 
pursue  the  subject.  He  felt  the  personal  note  in  the 
discussion,  and  was  afraid  to  trust  himself  to  speak 
further.  There  was  silence  for  a  while.  Then  he  said 
very  humbly  — 

"  Mrs.  Key,  there  is  one  thing  on  my  heart  to  ask 
you.     Can  you  guess  what  it  is  ?  " 

"  About  your  child  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Is  it  well  with  Jack  ?  " 

"  It  is  well  with  him,"  she  answered  simply,  afraid 
in  her  turn  to  speak  more  fully  on  a  topic  involving  so 
much  personal  feeling. 

Tears  rushed  to  Dorset's  eyes.  A  lump  in  his 
throat  prevented  his  replying,  but  he  looked  the  thank- 
fulness words  could  not  express. 

"  How  did  you  escape  from  Richmond  ? "  said 
Madelaine  presently,  forgetting  her  constraint,  to  ask 
what  she  had  wanted  to  know  ever  since  the  night  she 
had  given  him  his  liberty. 

Dorset  reddened  as  he  answered,  "After  you  set 
me  free,  the  Confederate  uniform  saved  me.  A  good 
Samaritan  of  a  parson  found  me  faint  and  staggering 
in  the  street,  and  without  asking  any  questions  took  me 


A  FIERY  FURNACE.  249 

to  his  home  and  had  me  cared  for  until  I  was  well 
enough  to  walk.  Then  one  morning  I  went  away,  and 
the  uniform  carried  me  outside  the  pickets.  Once  be- 
yond these,  I  had  n't  much  difficulty  in  finding  people 
willing  to  help  me  to  run  the  blockade.  I  discovered 
that  I  had  been  reported  among  the  missing  after  the 
skirmish  near  Richmond,  where  Dahlgren  and  so  many 
of  our  men  were  killed.  When  I  get  back  to  my  com- 
mand, it  will  be  like  one  risen  from  the  dead.  My 
white  face  and  bare  bones  will  testify  to  my  not  hav- 
ing been  in  fighting  condition,  without  a  surgeon's 
certificate.  I  'm  not  half  the  man  I  was  before  that 
typhoid  fever.  You  would  not  know  me  with  my 
fighting  weight,  Mrs.  Key." 

Dorset,  looking  in  her  face,  hoping  to  make  hei* 
smile,  saw  her  countenance  change. 

"What  is  that?"  she  cried,  turning  pale  and  stop- 
ping her  ears.  A  whizzing,  rushing  sound  filled  the 
air.  She  had  felt  the  concussion  before  she  heard  it. 
It  was  followed  by  a  crash,  as  if  a  thunderbolt  had 
fallen  at  her  feet. 

Dorset's  lamp  in  the  window  had  brought  a  Federal 
gun  to  bear  on  the  blockade  runners'  nest.  The  birds 
of  prey  had  flown ;  only  a  pair  of  innocent  doves  were 
caught  in  the  snare. 

A  ball  made  a  breach  in  the  frail  wooden  walls,  and 
before  Madelaine  could  catch  her  breath,  another  burst 
into  the  room  and  fell,  hot  and  smoking,  a  few  yards 
from  where  she  stood.  She  and  Dorset  looked  at  each 
other,  their  faces  pale  with  despair.  There  did  not 
seem  a  chance  for  their  lives.  It  was  a  position  to 
shake  the   stoutest  heart.     Madelaine   trembled   with 


250  JACK  HORNER. 

wild,  womanly  terror.  Dorset  trembled  for  her.  He 
had  the  jiresence  of  mind  to  remove  the  lamp  from  the 
window  and  close  the  board  shutters. 

Madelaine,  paralyzed  with  fright,  looked  with  dumb 
instinct  to  Dorset  for  protection.  Her  frightened, 
pleading  look  moved  him  more  than  the  guns. 

"  Lie  down  flat  on  the  floor.  It 's  your  best  chance," 
he  cried,  as  a  ball  whizzed  past  the  house. 

Madelaine  could  not  understand.  She  could  not 
move. 

He  caught  lier  by  the  waist  and  gently  pulled  her 
down.  Light  and  color  passed  out  of  her  face,  and 
she  slipped  unresistingly  to  the  floor.  He  saw  that  her 
terror  was  lost  in  unconsciousness.  He  stood  between 
her  and  the  direction  whence  the  balls  came,  with  a 
wild  hope  that  they  would  pass  through  his  body  be- 
fore they  touched  her.  The  firing  continued.  From 
time  to  time  a  ball  whistled  by  the  house,  or  struck  a, 
neighboring  building. 

Dorset,  his  heart  contracted  with  agony,  looked  down 
on  Madelaine,  lying  motionless  as  if  cut  in  stone.  An- 
other ball,  tearing  up  the  earth  near  the  house  with  a 
frightful  noise,  startled  her  to  semi-consciousness.  Her 
lips  moved.     Dorset  knelt  by  her  to  catch  her  words. 

"  Hardwick !  "  she  murmured. 

"  I  am  here,"  the  words  bursting  from  him  in  a 
great  sob. 

*'  Hardwick,  don't  leave  me  !  "  she  pleaded  piteously. 

He  wanted  to  gather  her  in  his  arms  and  soothe  her 
like  a  frightened  child.  But  he  was  under  bonds.  He 
was  her  protector.  She  was  unconscious  and  helpless. 
It  was  like  tearing  flesh  and  spirit  asunder,  but  she  was 


A    FIERY  FURNACE.  251 

as  safe  from  his  caresses  as  if  the  ocean  I'olled  between 
them. 

"  I  will  not  leave  you.  We  will  die  together,"  he 
cried  brokenly, 

"  Yes,  go,  go !  They  will  take  you  and  hang 
you !  "  she  rambled  on,  her  thoughts  drifting  backward 
to  the  night  of  his  escape. 

"•  I  am  safe  with  you,  dearest  love,"  he  groaned,  re- 
membering her  care  of  him  as  he  hung  over  her,  his 
face  haggard  with  the  despair  of  love  powerless  to 
help. 

"  Love  ?  "  she  echoed,  looking  terrified.  "  Is  it  a 
sin  to  love  a  Yankee  ?  God  knows  I  've  tried  not 
to." 

"  Sin  ?  My  God !  her  pure  heart's  blackest  sin  is  to 
love  a  Yankee,"  was  his  soul's  unuttered  cry.  He 
blushed  to  hear  her  secret  thoughts,  and  in  the  face  of 
what  seemed  certain  death,  he  felt  a  thrill  of  joy. 

"  O  Hugh,  save  me  !  save  me  !  "  she  cried,  as  a 
ball  shivered  a  tree  near  the  house,  trying  to  raise  her- 
self, and  stretching  out  her  hands  for  help. 

Dorset  caught  them  in  his  cold  hands,  his  heart  flut- 
tering like  a  fettered  bird. 

The  touch  brought  her  to  herself.  Intelligence 
came  slowly  back  to  her  eyes,  a  faint  color  sufPused 
her  face.  "  What  has  happened  ?  "  she  asked,  trying 
to  rise. 

A  moment  more  and  she  remembered.  "  Ah,  yes, 
the  guns  !  Will  they  come  again  ?  "  covering  her  ears 
with  her  hands. 

"  I  hope  not.  I  can't  say.  They  have  been  coming 
more  slowly." 


252  JACK  HORNER. 

These  two,  caught  like  rats  in  a  trap,  with  the  horrid 
din  of  combat  about  them  without  the  sustaining  ex- 
citement of  resistance  and  defense,  waited  silently  for 
death.  Their  souls  were  knit  together  as  by  fire,  with 
a  power  unknown  to  joy. 

The  firing  gradually  ceased.  When  the  dawn 
peeped  in  through  the  fissures  in  the  walls  and  found 
them  unharmed,  untouched,  they  looked  in  each  other's 
haggard  faces  and  sobbed,  "  Thank  God !  " 

That  night's  anguish  left  Dorset  more  shaken  than 
a  battle.  The  time  in  which  they  had  endured  such 
agony  of  suspense,  and  which  seemed  an  eternity,  was 
in  reality  about  two  hours.  It  was  May,  and  day 
broke  early.  It  was  not  more  than  four  o'clock  when 
the  sun,  which  had  gone  down  in  sullen  clouds  and 
pitiless  rain,  began  to  flush  the  eastern  sky  like  a  May 
queen  all  smiles  and  roses. 

In  the  first  burst  of  thankfulness,  Mrs.  Key  remem- 
bered the  old  woman,  and  thought  how  terrified  she 
must  have  been  during  the  bombardment.  '•  Major 
Dorset,  I  think  the  poor  old  woman  must  have  died  of 
fright." 

A  half  smile  quivered  on  Dorset's  lips.  Nothing 
could  have  so  relieved  the  tension  of  feeling  as  a  prov- 
ocation to  smile. 

"  You  are  kind  to  think  of  her  after  her  inhospi- 
tality- " 

"  Don't  you  suppose  she  will  come  down  now  that  it 
is  day  ?  I  should  like  to  see  her.  Inhospitable  as  she 
is,  it  was  a  comfort  to  knoAv  she  was  there." 

Dorset  looked  at  her  with  something  of  the  pleading 
expression    which    had    so    puzzled   her  when,    being 


A   FIERY  FURNACE.  253 

nursed  as  a  Confederate,  he  tried  tacitly  to  ask  forgive- 
ness for  being  a  Yankee.  She  turned  away.  It  was 
the  expression  which,  from  the  first  glance,  had  always 
discomposed  her." 

"Is  she  a  comfort  to  you  now?"  he  asked  ear- 
nestly. 

"  Yes  ;  why  ?  "  feeling  that  something  was  behind. 

"  I  have  a  confession  to  make  about  that  woman." 

"  What !     Is  n't  she  an  old  woman  ?  " 

"  Did  I  say  she  was  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  you  did,  but  I  supposed  she  was. 
A  young  woman,"  wnncing  and  blushing  as  she  thought 
of  her  own  case,  ''  would  not  be  apt  to  be  here." 

"  You  will  not  be  afraid  to  stay  here  with  the  old 
woman,  while  I  go  and  try  to  find  something  or  some- 
body to  take  us  away  from  this  place  ?  If  I  can't  do 
better,  I  shall  hoist  a  flag  of  distress  on  the  shore," 
said  Dorset,  opening  the  door  and  windows  to  let  in 
the  light  and  breath  of  day. 

"  I  'm  not  afraid,"  she  said  confidently.  She  was 
faint  and  jaded  and  hungry,  but  felt  something  of  ex- 
hilaration at  the  sight  of  day  after  such  a  night. 

It  was  a  glorious  morning.  The  rising  sun  painted 
the  sky  with  saffron  and  gold.  Trees  and  herbage 
glistened  with  rain-washed  freshness.  The  great  river 
danced  and  sparkled  as  if  it  never  had  been  dark  and 
sullen.  In  the  distance,  beyond  a  stretch  of  w^ood,  a 
cloud  of  smoke  hanging  in  the  air  betrayed  the  pres- 
ence of  a  camp. 

Madelaine  stood  in  the  door  looking  after  Dorset  as 
he  went  away,  wishing  the  old  woman  would  come 
down   and  give  her  the  comfort  of  her  company  and 


254  JACK  HORNER. 

something  to  eat.  Physical  exhaustion  was  for  the 
moment  paramount  to  the  distress  and  embarrassment 
of  the  situation. 

Before  Dorset  reached  the  road,  her  quick  ear  caught 
the  familiar,  far-away  sound  of  many  hoofs,  faint  at 
first,  for  the  roads  were  sodden  from  recent  rains.  Dor- 
set's own  footsteps  prevented  his  perceiving  it. 

She  called  to  him,  agitated  with  a  new  anxiety. 
Evidently  a  body  of  horse  approached.  Would  they 
prove  friends  or  enemies  ?  And  in  Dorset's  company, 
who  would  be  friends  and  who  enemies  ?  "  Major 
Dorset !  " 

He  turned  back.  Her  voice  and  countenance  be- 
trayed fresh  trouble. 

"  What  is  it,  my  sister  ?  "  he  asked  gently,  full  of 
tender  concern  for  her  foi'lorn  condition,  the  difficulties 
of  which  increased  every  moment. 

"  Listen  !  "  she  said,  raising  her  hand  and  holding 
her  breath  to  hear. 

The  sound  became  every  moment  nearer  and  clearer. 
Dorset  recognized  the  tramp  of  horse,  and  his  counte- 
nance for  a  moment  reflected  the  anxiety  of  hers.  But 
he  rallied  immediately. 

"  The  problem  I  was  going  to  try  and  solve,"  he 
said  cheerfully,  "  will  be  solved  for  us.  Those  horse- 
men must  get  us  out  of  this  hole." 

He  stood  by  her  on  the  doorstep,  shading  his  eyes 
from  the  sun  as  he  looked  towards  the  east,  whence 
the  sound  of  trotting  hoofs  proceeded.  It  was  not 
long  before  they  came.  Half  a  dozen  or  more  Federal 
cavalry,  blue -coated,  mud  -  splashed,  dashed  into  the 
village,  and  drew  up  at  the  gate  of  the  only  occupied 


A   FIERY  FURNACE.  255 

house.  One  of  the  in  peremptarily  demanded  what 
Dorset  and  Mrs.  Key  were  doing  there. 

Dorset  explained  that  he  was  a  Federal  officer,  try- 
ing to  get  back  to  his  command  after  an  illness  in 
Confederate  lines  through  which  he  had  just  escaped. 

The  spokesman  laughed  him  to  scorn.  "  What  have 
you  to  show  that  you  are  a  Federal  officer  ?  And  the 
woman,  is  she  one  too  ?  " 

"  This  lady,"  said  Dorset,  furious  at  the  man's 
brutality,  "is  my  sister,  who"  — 

"  Well,  she  don't  look  much  like  you.  And  there  's 
notliing  Federal  about  her.  She 's  secesh  from  her 
bonnet  to  her  shoes.  No,  you  are  rebel  smugglers, 
giving  aid  and  comfort  to  the  enemy,  and  the  govern- 
ment wants  to  break  up  that  kind  of  thing.  I  have 
orders  to  fire  this  place.  As  for  you  and  your  com- 
panion, you  will  be  examined  by  the  proper  authorities. 
Is  there  anybody  else  in  this  hole  ?  " 

"  You  can  search  for  yourself,"  said  Dorset  shortly, 
reddening  as  he  caught  Mrs.  Key's  glance.  He  knew 
she  was  thinking  compassionately  of  the  old  woman. 

"  That  would  be  better  than  to  trust  your  evidence," 
said  the  cavalryman.  Mrs.  Key  thought  of  all  the 
horrors  she  had  encountered  in  running  the  blockade, 
this  man  was  the  worst. 

Two  men  were  detailed  to  search  the  village  for 
rebels  before  applying  the  torch.  Two  were  sent  to 
hunt  up  a  vehicle  to  convey  Major  Dorset  and  Mrs. 
Key  to  Washington.  Before  the  sun  had  advanced 
far  on  his  journey,  these  two  were  on  their  way  to  the 
Federal  capital  as  prisoners  of  war. 

Before  they  left  the  village,  they  saw  the  soldiers, 


256  JACK  HORNER. 

after  a  hasty  search  for  rebels,  set  fire  to  the  houses, 
beginning  with  the  one  in  which  they  had  found  shelter. 

Mrs.  Key  turned  to  Dorset  with  a  face  of  horror. 

"  The  old  woman !  "  she  gasped.  Dorset  felt  an 
inclination  both  to  laugh  and  to  cry,  but  he  did 
neither. 

"  It  was  a  comfort  to  you  to  feel  she  was  there  last 
night  ?  "  he  asked  gravely. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  breathless. 

"  It  will  be  a  comfort  to  know  she  is  not  there  this 
morning  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes." 

*'  She  is  not  there." 

"  What  has  become  of  her  ?  I  don't  understand,"  be' 
wildered. 

"  She  was  never  there." 

"  Never  there  ?  And  you  "  — 

"  Yes  ;  "  his  blue  eyes  brilliant  with  mingled  amuse- 
ment and  apology. 

Mrs.  Key  looked  away. 

She  hated  lying,  tacit  and  spoken,  but  somehow  she 
loved  that  lie,  and  it  scored  another  point  for  the  liar. 


XXVII. 

MAY   AND   DECEMBER. 

The  heavy  rains  Mrs.  Key  encountered  during  her 
blockade-running  expedition  were  general,  and  made 
gloomy  weather  in  Richmond  as  elsewhere. 

One  afternoon,  during  a  steady  downpour,  Larry 
Pritchard  was  making  a  visit  to  his  betrothed,  Bo  Dis- 
ney. They  were  to  be  married  in  June,  and  not  in 
May  as  Larry  urged.  Bo  said  the  latter  month  was 
unlucky,  adding  mentally  that  it  was  lucky  May  was 
unlucky.  Something  might  happen  before  June.  The 
sky  might  fall  and  poor  people  catch  larks,  or  foreign 
nations  might  recognize  the  Confederacy  and  honest 
folk  come  by  their  own  again.  However  other  women 
may  conduct  themselves  in  a  similar  position.  Bo  never 
complicated  things  by  pretending  that  her  engagement 
was  anything  but  a  matter  of  convenience.  She 
thought  that  was  bad  enough  without  lying  about  it  in 
word  or  manner.  No  marriage  in  France  was  ever 
arranged  with  a  better  understanding  that  it  was  a 
business  affair.  There  was  this  saving  clause  which 
French  marriages  sometimes  lack,  that  there  was  noth- 
ing in  the  past  career  of  either  party  that  forfeited 
confidence  or  respect.  Poor  Larry  was  not  only  good, 
but  had  incurred  the  mild  odium  of  being  goody. 
To  his  credit,  this  last  characteristic  had  been  greatly 


258  JACK  HORNER. 

remedied  by  the  war  and  latterly  by  his  engagement. 
"When  the  world  is  tumbling  about  one's  ears,  one  does 
not  bother  about  anise  and  mint  and  cumin,  and  when 
a  man's  thoughts  are  wholly  occupied  with  a  beautiful 
and  charming  girl,  self  is  apt  to  get  into  the  background. 
The  war  and  Bo  Disney  together  had  made  Larry 
Pritchard  more  of  a  man  than  he  had  been  any  time 
since  he  attained  his  majority.  They  really  made  so 
much  difference  in  his  character  and  bearing  that  peo- 
ple began  to  drop  the  half-affectionate,  half-belittling 
name  of  Larry  and  call  him  Mr.  Pritchard.  Bo's 
manner  to  him  was  the  perfection  of  kind  civility 
which  a  well-behaved  young  lady  would  adopt  towards 
a  lately  found  grandfather,  and  whatever  throes  of  re- 
gret and  baffled  affection  Mr.  Pritchard  may  have  ex- 
perienced from  this  kind  of  association,  he  concealed 
under  a  very  proper  mask  of  grandfatherly  deport- 
ment. There  was  fine  instinct  in  this,  for  Bo  had  a 
restive  temper,  and  anything  more  urgent  would  most 
likely  have  been  fatal  to  the  arrangement. 

He  did  not  look  sentimental.  He  had  large  hands 
and  feet,  was  bald-headed,  and  big  in  the  girth.  Com- 
ing in,  he  looked  warm  and  moist  after  his  walk,  for 
the  weather  was  sultry  as  well  as  damp. 

"  So  you  've  come  out  in  all  this  rain  to  see  us," 
said  Bo,  including  her  mother  in  the  attention,  as  she 
drew  up  one  of  the  rickety  chairs  for  her  visitor. 

"  Mr.  Pritchard  knows  the  value  of  a  visit  on  a 
rainy  day,"  said  Mrs.  Disney  suavely.  "  Bo  and  I  have 
been  yawning  in  each  other's  faces  all  the  morning,  and 
it 's  delightful  to  see  a  fresh  face." 

"  Why  should  n't  I  come  out  in  the  rain  ?  "  said  Mr. 


MAY  AND  DECEMBER.  259 

Pritchard,  inclined  to  resent  its  being  anything  extraor- 
dinary. ''  If  I  can  stand  the  water  trickling  down  my 
back  on  picket  duty,  I  don't  see  why  I  can't  hoist  an 
umbrella  and  come  and  see  a  friend." 

"  You  are  prepared  for  either  fire  or  water,  are  n't 
you  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Disney,  with  a  sugary  smile. 

Life  had  been  so  much  more  comfortable,  not  to  say 
beautiful,  to  the  lady  since  Larry  assumed  the  role  of 
prospective  son-in-law,  that  she  bloomed  out  in  his  pres- 
ence like  four-o'clocks  in  the  sun.  She  had  had  real 
coffee  for  breakfast,  real  wine  for  dinner  ;  she  sat  in  a 
well-cushioned  chair  that  was  not  rickety  ;  her  work- 
table  was  decorated  with  roses.  This  in  the  Confed- 
ei-acy  was  to  be  a  queen.     Why  should  she  not  smile  ? 

People  said  it  was  a  pity  Larry  had  not  proposed  to 
the  mother  instead  of  the  daughter. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  to  be  on  picket  duty  such  a 
night  as  this  ?  "  said  Bo  kindly. 

"  Why  not  ?  It  agrees  with  me  wonderfully.  I 
was  never  in  better  health,"  thumping  his  chest  by  way 
of  proof,  "  than  since  I  've  been  soldiering." 

"  You  know  Miss  Patty  says  I  must  take  care  of 
you ;  that  you  can't  take  care  of  yourself,  and  that  I 
can't  begin  too  early." 

Mr.  Pritchard's  moist,  red  face  beamed  all  over  at 
this  sign  of  interest,  and  Mrs.  Disney  took  occasion  to 
go  away. 

"  You  are  a  good  little  girl,  Bo,  and  when  the  war  is 
over,  you  may  take  as  much  care  of  me  as  you  like. 
Just  now,  I  must  do  what  an  old  fellow  can  to  help 
what  Patty  calls  'the  Cause.' " 

"  But  you  need  n't  have  the  water  trickling  down 


260  JACK  HORNER. 

your  back.  I  've  got  mamma  to  make  you  a  com- 
forter," taking  from  her  work-basket  a  scarf  knit  of 
coarse  red  wool.  "  I  shoukl  have  made  it  myself  but 
for  my  lame  hand.  It 's  hideous,  but  I  could  n't  get 
anything  better  to  make  it  of,"  winding  it  round  and 
round  her  slender  throat  to  show  how  it  was  to  be  worn, 
her  bright  face  rising  like  a  pure  flame  from  out  the 
fiery  red  mass. 

"It's  the  most  beautiful  thing  I  ever  saw!"  cried 
Larry  enthusiastically. 

Receiving  it  from  her  hands,  he  wound  it  round  his 
throat,  finding  it  a  comforter  indeed,  warming  his  very 
heart.  The  effect  was  not  good  artistically.  Its  vio- 
lent color,  which  heightened  Bo's  beauty,  brought  out 
his  wrinkles  and  defects. 

"  It 's  tiptop.  I  shall  feel  as  snug  as  a  bug  in  a 
rug,"  he  declared. 

Bo  turned  away. 

Life's  rosy  morning  had  faded  into  the  light  of  com- 
mon day.  It  required  as  much  courage  to  face  that 
fact  as  to  storm  a  breach  ;  and  without  the  glory. 

Larry  did  not  tease  her  long  with  his  presence. 
She  was  very  gentle,  very  kind ;  kinder  than  she  had 
ever  been.  As  he  was  leaving,  he  stood  for  a  moment 
undecided,  looking  red  and  bashful,  rubbing  his  chin 
thoughtfully. 

"  Bo,  would  you  do  me  a  little  favor  ?  " 

Bo  knew  what  was  coming.  It  was  an  old  story. 
With  frightened  eyes  she  looked  first  at  one  door  and 
then  at  the  other,  like  a  bird  fluttering  to  escape. 

"  No,  Mr.  Pritchard,  not  a  little  one  but  a  great  one. 
Ask  me  to  do  something  great  for  you,  and  I  will,  '  to 


MAY  ASD  DECEMBER.  261 

the  half  of  my  kingdom,'  "  she  answered  breathlessly, 
trying  to  be  playful. 

"  This  would  be  a  great  one  for  me.  Won't  you 
kiss  me  good-by,  Bo,  just  once  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Pritchard,"  backing  towards  the  door,  "  I 
don't  think  I  can.  I  should  n't  know  how.  You 
know  I  have  never  kissed  any  man.  My  father  died 
before  I  could  remember,  and  I  have  never  had  any 
brothers." 

That  her  rich  red  lips  had  never  been  kissed  by  any 
man  did  not  make  them  less  attractive  to  poor  Larry, 
who  stood  outside  the  gates  of  paradise. 

"Just  as  you  please,  dear,"  backing  towards  the 
other  door  and  regarding  her  with  hungry  eyes  ;  "'  but 
it  would  make  me  very  happy." 

"  And  I  have  promised  to  try  to  make  you  happy," 
cried  Bo,  turning  deadly  pale  and  advancing  a  step. 

'•  And  I  have  promised  to  try  not  to  make  you  un- 
happy," said  Larry,  pained  at  the  sight  of  her  white 
face,  and  receding  a  step  with  his  hand  upon  the  door- 
knob.    "  Good-by,  my  dear." 

"  But,  Mr.  Pritchard,"  gasped  Bo,  drawing  nearer 
bravely,  like  Madame  Roland  to  her  doom,  with  closed 
eyes  and  uplifted  mouth,  "  I  will  give  you  a  kiss." 

"  No,"  said  Larry  stoutly,  rattling  the  doorknob 
with  trembhng  hand,  trying  to  go,  but  fascinated  by 
the  sight  of  the  face  coming  towards  him.  Human 
self-denial  has  its  limits.  Larry's  limbs  refused  to 
move.  He  felt  that  life  had  not  been  in  vain  to  get  a 
kiss  from  Bo.  To  have  her  mouth  lifted  to  his  and 
leave  it  untouched  was  beyond  his  human  nature.  He 
was  overwhelmed  by  the  immensity  of  the  occasion  and 


262  JACK  HORNER. 

frightened  as  a  girl.  With  violently  beating  heart,  he 
dropped  a  light  kiss  on  her  cold  lips  and  hurried  away. 
When  the  tumult  of  feeling  had  subsided,  he  was  quite 
sure  it  had  been  the  happiest  day  of  his  life.  The 
comforter  was  Bo's  first  present  to  him,  and  carrying  it 
off  in  a  paper  parcel,  he  squeezed  it  now  and  then  to 
be  certain  it  was  there. 

"  She  will  make  me  a  good  little  wife,  and  I  shall 
make  her  as  happy  as  I  can,  and  not  trouble  her  long," 
was  the  honest  fellow's  thought  as  he  trudged  home 
under  an  umbrella.  He  aspired  to  be  a  lover  and  a 
soldier.  He  did  not  look  either  part,  but  a  truer  heart 
never  beat  for  mistress  or  for  country. 

After  Larry  had  gone,  Mrs.  Disney  came  back  and 
resumed  a  book  she  had  been  reading. 

Bo  contemplated  her  silently  for  some  time. 

"  Mamma,"  she  said  presently,  looking  out  of  the 
window,  speaking  as  lightly  as  she  could,  "  are  you 
happy,  very  happy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  you  would  make  any  mother  happy. 
Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  I  like  to  hear  you  say  you  are  happy.  It 
makes  me  —  happier." 


XXVIII. 

A   NEW  SAINT   IN   THE   CALENDAR. 

The  next  day,  the  weather  cleared.  A  great 
amateur  concert  for  the  benefit  of  the  hospitals,  which 
had  been  in  preparation  for  weeks,  was  given  in  the 
afternoon.  Bo,  with  the  rest  of  Richmond  society, 
was  present.  She  wore  a  Parisian  walking  suit,  a 
fact  as  astonishing  to  herself  as  anything  in  or  out  of 
the  Arabian  nights. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem  now,  girls  were  as  fond  of 
beautiful  clothes  then  as  in  times  of  pi'ofound  peace  ; 
probably  more  so,  for  girls  do  not  dress  altogether  for 
the  admiration  of  their  own  sex,  and  during  the  war 
men  were  more  to  the  front  and  more  ready  to  admire 
than  in  ordinary  times. 

A  young  girl,  a  cousin  of  Bo's,  engaged  to  be  married 
to  a  Confederate  general,  had  the  good  fortune  to  get 
through  the  lines  from  Baltimore  with  a  Parisian  trous- 
seau, and  hearing  that  Bo  was  going  to  be  married, 
generously  presented  her  with  one  of  her  costumes. 
It  came  in  the  nick  of  time,  for,  as  Bo  said,  she  was 
on  her  last  rags.  She  agreed  that  it  was  incongruous 
to  dress  like  a  pauper  at  one  time  and  as  a  fashion 
plate  at  another,  but  necessity  knows  no  law.  Bo  was  not 
happy,  but  she  was  a  woman ;  and  if  she  were  going  to 
the  scafEold,  she  would  still  enjoy  the  look,  the  touch, 


264  JACK  HonyER. 

the  odor,  of  Parisian  clothes.  She  wore  hers  for  the 
first  time  to  the  concert.  Had  they  been  the  gift  of  a 
fair}^,  they  could  not  have  better  suited  her  delicate, 
spirited  beauty.  They  were  the  perfection  of  material 
prettiness,  and  she  added  the  grace  that  gave  them  hu- 
man interest. 

She  looked  in  the  glass  and  viewed  herself  from 
every  point. 

"  You  are  French  from  the  top  of  your  stylish  bon- 
net to  the  tip  of  your  lacquered  toe,"  she  said  gayly, 
laughing,  showing  all  her  small  white  teeth  as  she 
whirled  from  right  to  left  and  back  again  before  the 
mirror.  Then  she  became  suddenly  grave.  The  word 
"  French  "  brought  back  all  her  trouble  ;  she  turned 
away  with  the  old  pain  at  her  heart. 

"  Pooh !  what  do  I  care  for  finery  ? "  she  said, 
sending  a  hassock  spinning  across  the  floor  with  the 
point  of  her  lacquered  toe. 

Walking  up  the  main  aisle  of  the  concert-room,  she 
concentrated  the  gaze  of  the  audience.  It  would  not 
have  been  in  human  nature  not  to  look  after  her 
charming  figure.  A  Parisian  toilet  has  its  value  at  the 
best  of  times.  Think  of  its  glory  in  a  community 
blockaded  from  fabric  and  fashion  during  three  years ! 
Every  eye  eagerly  followed  the  dainty  lace-trimmed 
pelisse  and  the  coquettish  bonnet,  with  its  aigrette  of 
plumes,  that  looked  the  very  oriflamme  of  youth  and 
beauty.  There  was  a  momentary  compression  of  hearts 
in  the  crowd.  Men  were  breathless  with  admiration, 
women  with  envy.  One  observer  felt  the  stir  her 
toilet  created  as  a  breath  from  his  native  land.  From 
nowhere  else  could  such  perfection  of  form  and  color 


A     NEW  SAINT  IN  THE   CALENDAR.      265 

have  emanated.  Bo's  beauty  he  felt  to  be  part  of  his 
life.  Nobody  loved  her  as  he  did.  Her  sudden  ap- 
pearance in  this  unexpected  guise  acted  powerfully 
on  St.  Maur's  French  temperament.  He  forgot  his 
worldly  wisdom,  and  was  so  agitated  as  scarcely  to 
know  what  happened  during  the  performance.  The 
music  was  only  an  atmosphere  in  which  his  love  rose 
and  fell,  throbbed  with  passionate  life,  or  ached  in 
long-drawn-out  pain  with  its  scherzos  and  adagios. 
No  combination  sways  the  human  soul  like  love  and 
music.  Every  lover  knows  what  it  is  to  be  thrilled  to 
rapture,  or  moved  to  tears,  by  some  musical  phrase 
that  leaves  a  rational  companion  tranquil. 

St.  Maur  had  acceded  to  Bo's  wishes,  and  kept 
away  from  her  since  the  day  she  told  him  she  could 
not  marry  him.  The  first  ardor  of  that  occasion 
abated,  he  felt  she  had  been  wise  in  not  accepting  him, 
and  bore  his  banishment  with  what  philosophy  he  could 
until  he  learned  she  was  going  to  marry  another  man. 
That  hurt,  although  he  could  not  deny  that,  next  to 
discarding  himself,  the  wisest  thing  she  could  do  was 
to  marry  Larry  Pritchard. 

It  was  comparatively  easy  to  coolly  figure  all  this  out 
at  his  desk  in  the  War  Department,  and  easier  still 
over  his  scanty  meals  in  a  boarding-house ;  but  it  was 
altogether  different  w^hen  Bo,  bewitchingly  beautiful 
in  a  Parisian  costume,  bad  the  world,  looking  on,  and 
every  man  as  free  to  admire  her  as  he  who  loved  her 
and  was  loved  by  her.  That  was  hard.  He  waited 
for  her,  and  when  the  crowd  poured  out  of  the  concert- 
room,  he  joined  her,  although  he  knew  that  for  both 
their  sakes  it  was  the  most  imprudent  thing  to  do. 


266  JACK  HORNER. 

Her  soft,  dark  eyes  lit  up  with  the  old  flash,  her 
cheeks  glowed,  and  he  knew  by  the  quickening  of  his 
own  pulses  just  how  her  heart  was  beating.  But  they 
were  in  a  crowd.  More  than  one  young  man  pressed 
forward  to  join  her.  He  had  the  good  luck  to  be 
first. 

"Miss  Disney,  may  I  walk  home  with  you?"  he 
asked,  with  the  conventional  bow  and  smile. 

"  I  am  not  going  so  far  as  home,  but  I  shall  be  glad 
to  have  you  go  with  me  to  Miss  Patty's  door,"  she 
answered,  in  the  same  way. 

St.  Maur's  conventional  smile  vanished  into  very 
real  gloom.  Miss  Patty's  door  was  only  just  round 
the  corner ;  moreover,  it  was  Larry  Pritchard's  door, 
and  he  wanted,  for  a  brief  space  at  least,  to  forget  the 
existence  of  such  a  person. 

He  was  silent  until  they  were  beyond  the  press  of  the 
crowd. 

"  You  want  to  remind  me  not  to  encroach  on  Mr. 
Pritchard's  preserves  ?  "  he  said  coldly. 

"  No,"  she  answered  gently ;  "  I  'm  going  to  ask  if 
they  have  heard  anything  of  Madelaine  since  she  went 
away.  Mamma  and  I  are  beginning  to  get  anxious 
about  her." 

"  Then  I  beg  your  pardon,"  with  the  swift  and  entire 
change  of  mood  and  countenance  which  to  Bo  was  one 
of  his  captivating  ways.  Most  men  have  to  be  humored 
out  of  their  ugly  tempers.  St.  Maur's  mood  tacked 
about  with  charming  facility.  It  was  not  difficult  to 
get  pleased,  with  Bo  looking  so  lovely  in  her  French 
dress.  Hers  was  the  high-bred  type  whose  beauty  is 
made  most  effective  by  the  advantages  of  style,  that 


A   NEW  SAINT  IN  THE   CALENDAR.      267 

subtle  charm  composed  of  grace,  of  manner,  tint,  cos- 
tume, and  a  thousand  indescribable  things,  which  all 
men  admire  and  Frenchmen  adore. 

Never  had  St.  Maur  found  Bo  so  fascinating ;  none 
the  less,  that  her  old  exuberant  light-heartedness  was 
tinged  with  sadness  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  be  gay. 
When  they  reached  the  Pritchards,  door,  St.  INIaur  per- 
suaded her  to  take  a  walk  with  him  before  she  went  in. 

"  Only  a  short  one,  for  the  last  time,  and  the  weather 
so  beautiful,"  he  urged. 

The  weather  was  at  its  finest.  Richmond  is  always 
loveliest  in  May.  After  the  long,  wet  spell  inevitable 
in  that  month,  she  emerges  fresh  and  beautiful,  like 
Venus  from  her  bath.  The  vivified  air  is  vocal  with 
bird  notes  and  full  of  the  entrancing  odors  of  rain- 
washed  leaves  and  blossoms.  The  turf  of  its  gardens 
and  parterres,  putting  forth  myriads  of  young  blades, 
seems  recarpeted  with  velvet  for  the  foot  of  spring. 
Trees,  with  a  new  vesture  of  tender  green,  rustle  their 
boughs  and  spread  a  broader  shade.  Vines,  with  fresh 
tendrils,  take  a  larger  grasp  and  throw  a  wider  mantle 
over  wall  and  trellis.  The  thoughts  of  young  men 
lightly  turn  to  love,  and  those  of  young  women  meet 
them  halfway. 

The  street  was  full  of  promenaders,  young  and  old, 
taking  an  airing  after  the  concert.  Bo  had  the  plea- 
sure and  distinction  of  a  cordial  greeting  from  Mrs. 
President  in  her  brougham,  and  from  the  President 
on  his  beautiful  white  Arabian,  which  was  one  of  the 
ornaments  of  Richmond  during  the  war. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  how  well  you  look  ?  "  St.  Maur 
could  not  help  saying,  seeing  Bo's  face  flush  and  her 


268  JACK  HORNER. 

eyes  sparkle  with  the  fumes  of  admiration  she  received 
on  every  side. 

"  Yes,  I  fancy  I  'm  looking  my  best.  Fine  feathers 
make  fine  birds.  But  I  feel  as  if  I  were  masquerading 
in  all  this  finery.  Homespun  seems  so  much  more 
natural  in  these  days  ;  "  flirting  a  dainty  parasol  with  a 
little  self-depreciatory  smile. 

"  But  you  are  mistaken.  You  never  looked  so  much 
in  character.     You  were  made  for  a  grande  dame.'' 

When  they  had  got  beyond  the  town,  which  was  not 
far  to  go  then,  and  had  turned  into  a  green  lane,  he 
said,  "  I  have  not  had  an  opportunity  to  congratulate 
you  on  your  engagement.     May  I  do  so  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  with  a  tightening  of  her  heart-strings ; 
"  if  you  think  it  a  subject  of  congratulation." 

"  I  do  ;  as  Mrs.  Pritchard,  you  will  be  able  to  be  a 
grande  dame  every  day." 

"  As  if  I  cared  for  that  kind  of  thing  I  "  tilting  her 
parasol  so  as  to  hide  her  eyes,  into  which  tears  would 
come. 

"  And  you  will  have  as  many  meals  a  day  as  you 
like." 

"  And  you  will  not  have  to  divide  yours.  I  have 
thought  a  great  deal  more  about  yours  than  my  own," 
winking  away  her  tears. 

"  Cherie,  I  know  that." 

"  Then  why  do  you  say  cruel  things  ?  " 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  hear  you  say  so.  Forgive 
my  being  a  little  spiteful.     How  can  I  help  it  ?  " 

*'  By  not  thinking  of  me." 

"  Ah,  it  is  not  so  easy  for  me  not  to  think  of  forbid- 
den things  as  it  is  for  you." 


A  NEW  SAINT  IN  THE   CALENDAR.     209 

"  For  me  ?     I  "  — 

"  Won't  you  put  your  parasol  on  the  other  side 
where  the  sun  is  ?  I  should  like  to  see  your  face," 
pleaded  St.  Maur,  seeing  she  did  not  finish  her  sen- 
tence. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  see  my  face." 

"  Why  not  ?  It  is  the  only  thing  on  earth  I  care  to 
see." 

"  Because  —  it  —  is  —  the  —  face  —  of  —  a  —  cow- 
ard," said  Bo,  swallowing  a  tear  between  each  word. 

They  called  up  St.  Maur's  tears. 

"  You  need  n't  mind  that,  cherie,  because  we  are  — 
two  cowards." 

"  Two  babies !  "  said  Bo,  with  a  hysterical  little 
laugh. 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment,  looking  straight 
ahead,  regaining  their  composure. 

Bo  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  joined  me.  It  makes  every- 
thing harder." 

"  I  know  it,  but  I  could  n't  help  it.  When  you 
came  into  the  concert-room  looking  so  lovely  and 
every  man  admiring  you,  I  was  jealous  of  them  all.  I 
hated  them  all.  I  thought  I  should  die  if  I  did  not 
see  you  and  speak  with  you  once  more  as  Bo  Disney, 
the  girl  who  once  loved  me.  I  did  not  join  you  to  say 
cruel  things  or  make  things  harder ;  I  only  wanted  to 
tell  you  again  how  much  I  love  "  — 

"  Please  "  —  interrupted  Bo. 

"  What  is  it,  darling  ?  "  seeing  her  miserable  face. 

"  Don't  call  me  '  darling.'  Please  don't  say  anything 
I  ought  not  to  hear  as  Mr.   Pritchard's  future  wife. 


270  JACK  HORNER. 

When  I  promised  to  marry  him  I  pledged  my  faith 
to  he  true  and  loyal.     It  is  all  I  can  do." 

"  But  I  made  no  pledges.     I  shall  always  love  you," 

"  You  must  never  tell  me  so,"  with  tremulous  lip. 

"  But "  — 

"If  I  were  going  to  marry  you,  and  another  man 
were  to  "  — 

"  I  should  kill  him." 

"  I  believe  you  would." 

"  Let  Pritchard  kiU  me.     I  wish  he  would,"  gloom- 

"  That  is  not  the  question,"  sobbed  Bo,  working  out 
for  herself  the  hard  problem  of  life  ;  "  but  that  it  is 
wrong  for  you  to  speak,  and  for  me  to  listen." 

St.  Maur  looked  at  her.  This  tender,  beautiful  girl 
strong  as  steel  for  loyalty,  —  she  was  a  creature  to  love 
and  be  loved,  to  whom  life  without  love  would  be  as 
day  without  the  sun.  He  saw  her  face,  pale,  agonized, 
yet  unflinching  with  the  pain  of  sacrifice,  and  recog- 
nized, probably  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  that  there 
was  something  better  than  himself,  something  higher 
than  human  love.  But  he  was  a  man  and  a  French- 
man. He  only  dimly  undei'stood.  He  was  half  in- 
clined to  believe  it  was  a  matter  of  temperament.  But 
he  was  profoundly  moved.  He  took  off  his  hat.  It 
was  a  necessity  of  his  nature  to  express  himself  in  ac- 
tion as  in  words. 

"  Boadicea,"  he  said  ;  and  there  was  never  a  sweeter 
combination  of  sound  than  her  name  on  his  tongue, 
or  at  least  Bo  thought  so.  It  thrilled  her  through 
and  through.  Her  brows  met  in  a  straight  dark  line 
above  her  brimming  eyes,  her  lips  quivered. 


A  NEW  SAINT  IN   THE   CALENDAR.       271 

"  Boadlcea,"  pressing  his  hat  against  his  bosom. 
"  you  are  not  a  woman,  you  are  a  saint,  —  a  white  saint. 
I  will  not  tell  you  I  love  you.  I  will  adore  you  far  off 
as  we  adore  the  saints." 

"  I  'm  not  a  saint,"  indignantly  ;  "  I  'm  only  a  girl,  — • 
a  girl  in  a  tight  place  ;  and  if  I  were  you  "  — 

"  Which  God  forbid,"  crushing  his  hat. 

"  And  you  were  me  "  — 

"  I  shall  never  be  anything  so  good." 

"  I  should  n't  do  anything  to  make  it  tighter,"  break- 
ing down. 

"  By  all  the  saints,  I  won't,"  breaking  down  too. 


XXIX. 

THE   LAST    OF   BO   DISXEY. 

St.  Maur  and  Bo  bade  each  other  a  final  farewell  at 
Miss  Patty's  door.  Their  emotion  had  passed  beyond 
expression  into  silence.  A  lingering,  tear-clouded 
glance,  a  wringing  of  the  hand,  and  they  parted.  Bo's 
dainty  pelisse  covered  as  broken  a  little  heart  as  ever 
throbbed.  St.  Maur  was  as  wretched  as  a  Frenchman 
permits  himself  to  be.  But  their  griefs  were  not  the 
only  ones.  Bo  found  Miss  Patty  troubled  about  many 
things.  Nothing  had  been  heard  from  Madelaine,  to 
begin  with.  Then  Larry,  who,  notwithstanding  the 
comforter,  had  taken  cold  the  night  before,  was  suffer- 
ing from  a  sharp  attack  of  rheumatism.  Jack  was 
feverish  and  had  a  sore  throat.  In  spite  of  Miss 
Patty's  effort  to  speak  calmly  of  this  last,  it  was  easy 
to  see  that  she  was  exceedingly  perturbed  lest  the  mal- 
ady should  develop  into  diphtheria,  which  was  prevalent 
then.  The  doctor  had  come,  and  said  he  could  not  tell 
what  it  might  prove  until  the  symptoms  were  more  ad- 
vanced. The  child's  illness  brought  Miss  Patty  to  his 
nursery  again.  In  fact,  she  rarely  left  it  except  when 
Larry  needed  her  attention.  Sitting  by  Jack's  little  bed, 
her  heart  ached  that  she  should  ever  have  banished  her- 
self from  him.  The  little  fellow,  ordinarily  so  full  of 
eager,  happy  life,  lay  flushed  and  languid,  with  labored 


THE  LAST  OF  DO  DISNEY.  273 

breathing  and  dull,  unnoticing  eyes.  She  remembered 
how  many  times  she  had  averted  her  glance  from  his 
outstretched  arms  and  joyous,  welcoming  face,  how 
many  times  disregarded  his  prattling  promises  to  '•  be 
dood."  It  was  no  comfort  to  her  now  to  know  that 
she  had  punished  herself  more  than  the  child.  No 
mother  ever  prayed  harder  for  the  recovery  of  her 
darling  than  Miss  Patty  for  Jack's  ;  all  the  more,  that 
she  had  once  thought  it  her  duty  to  alienate  herself 
from  him. 

"  Only  get  him  well,  doctor,"  she  cried,  in  an  out- 
burst of  anxiety  and  alarm,  "  and  I  sha'n't  care  if  he 
is  a  Yankee  !  " 

The  word  was  out  before  she  knew  it.  Fortunately, 
the  doctor  did  not  see  below  the  surface  ;  "  Yankee," 
like  ''  Bony  "  in  Thackeray's  time,  being  used  to  sig- 
nify the  worst  of  everything.  A  few  days  passed,  and 
the  doctor  pronounced  the  disease  a  mild  case  of 
scarlet  fever.  Miss  Patty's  heart  was  greatly  relieved. 
She  believed  that  with  Jack's  constitution  and  her  un- 
wearied care,  he  would  pull  through.  This  satisfaction 
was  counterbalanced  by  the  doctor  looking  grave  over 
Larry's  cold,  which  was  more  serious  than  at  first  ap- 
peared. There  was  a  whisper  of  pneumonia,  and  in  a 
day  or  two  this  theory  was  confirmed.  Larry  was 
very  ill,  and  his  life  despaired  of. 

Miss  Patty  was  amusing  Jack  with  a  remnant  of  a 
toy  Noah's  ark,  bow-wowing  with  the  dogs  and  mooing 
with  the  cows,  which  called  up  a  languid  smile  from 
the  boy,  when  Larry,  whom  she  had  left  asleep,  sent  for 
her.  She  found  him  sitting  up  in  bed,  looking  better, 
with  flushed  cheeks  and  brighter  eyes. 


274  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Why,  Larry,  you  must  be  feeling  better." 

"Yes,  better  and  stronger.  Has  Bo  been  here  to- 
day ?  " 

"  Yes,  while  you  were  asleep  ;  and  she  left  you  some 
wafers  she  helped  to  make  herself." 

"  God  bless  her  !  Bring  me  the  wafers.  I  will  eat 
one.  It  will  do  me  good,"  he  said,  in  a  strong,  ani- 
mated voice. 

Miss  Patty  felt  his  pulse.  He  was  evidently  under 
febrile  excitement,  and  she  made  up  her  mind  to  send 
for  the  doctor. 

The  wafers  were  brought,  delicate,  snowy  biscuit,  of 
thinness  almost  transparent,  the  poetry  of  food.  Larry 
took  one  and  ate  half  of  it.  His  face  brightened  as  he 
held  up  the  other  half  to  the  light,  which  could  be  seen 
through  it. 

"  Translucent !  is  n't  it  ?  Nobody  could  beat  that," 
enthusiastically. 

"It  is  remarkably  well-beaten,"  said  Miss  Patty, 
ventui'ing  a  feeble  little  pun  to  his  playfulness. 

"  She  will  make  the  best  little  wife  in  the  Confed- 
eracy, eh,  Patty  ?  " 

Miss  Patty  answered  with  a  watery  smile. 

Larry  put  aside  the  uneaten  half  wafer.  It  was  more 
than  he  could  swallow.  His  sister  moistened  his  lips 
with  ice.  He  seemed  refreshed,  and  laid  back  among 
his  pillows.  Then  he  said  deliberately  and  with  less 
excitement,  — 

"  Patty,  I  want  you  to  send  for  Bo  and  Mr.  Roth- 
well  ;  and  I  hope  Rothwell  will  not  disappoint  us  as  he 
did  Madelaine  and  poor  Dallas  "  — 

"  Larry,  dear,"  — 


THE  LAST  OF  BO  DISNEY.  275 

"  Don't  expostulate,"  fretfully.  "  I  know  what  I  'm 
about.  It  's  past  three  o'clock,  and  very  little  time 
left." 

It  was  really  only  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  forenoon. 
Miss  Patty  was  convinced  that  his  mind  was  wander- 
ing, but  hastened  to  carry  out  his  instructions.  To 
irritate  him  might  make  him  worse,  and  to  have  Roth- 
well  with  him  could  do  no  harm  at  any  time.  She 
also  sent  on  her  own  account  for  the  doctor. 

Bo,  who  lived  nearest,  was  the  first  to  come.  She 
was  surprised  at  the  summons  and  a  little  alarmed. 
Her  first  thought  was  of  Jack,  who,  when  she  was 
there  earlier  in  the  day,  was  much  the  more  ill  of 
Miss  Patty's  two  patients.  But  the  message,  which 
was  hurried  and  imperative,  came  from  Mr.  Pritchard 
himself.  Perhaps  it  was  to  arrange  some  new  kindness 
for  her  mother.  He  was  so  grateful  for  her  little  at- 
tentions, she  was  almost  afraid  to  offer  them.  It  might 
be  he  wanted  to  thank  her  for  the  wafers.  She  de- 
cided that  that  was  the  meaning  of  the  hasty  sum- 
mons. Ill  people  will  be  fanciful  and  impatient.  She 
was  as  far  from  imagining  what  he  wanted  as  pos- 
sible. 

Tying  on  a  rough  straw  hat,  which  did  duty  for 
early  marketing,  Bo  made  no  other  preparation  for 
her  unexpected  visit. 

"  Good-by,  mamma.  I  'm  off  to  the  Pritchards'  again. 
They  want  me  for  something  or  other,"  she  said,  waft- 
ing a  kiss  as  she  was  leaving  the  room. 

"  They  are  always  wanting  you.  Come  back  soon. 
Don't  stay  forever,"  cried  Mrs.  Disney,  half  jestingly, 
half  impatiently. 


276  JACK  HORNER. 

''  Oh,  I  '11  come  back  I  You  have  n't  seen  the  last  of 
Bo  Disney !  " 

She  arrived  at  the  Pritchards',  heated  and  breathless, 
her  face  shining  like  a  red  rose  under  its  broad  straw- 
thatch. 

Afra,  who  was  evidently  on  the  lookout,  met  her  at 
the  front  door. 

"  Miss  Patty  say  as  how  to  walk  right  upstars  to 
Mars  Larry's  room,"  she  said,  very  solemn  and  im- 
portant. 

The  woman's  appearance  impressed  Bo  at  once. 
Something  must  be  the  matter,  Afra  looked  so  much 
blacker  than  usual.  The  ordinary  hilarious  gleam  of 
her  teeth  and  the  whites  of  her  eyes  seemed  to  have 
retired  into  the  background.  Her  appearance  and 
manner  had  gone  into  mourning. 

"  Why,  Afra,  what 's  the  matter  ?  Is  Mr,  Pi'itchard 
■worse  to-day  ?  " 

"  Miss  Patty  thinks  as  how^  Mars  Larry  's  a  little 
quare  to-day,  an'  she  sot  it  down  to  de  fever." 

Bo  went  upstairs  with  trepidation.  She  did  not 
know  what  to  expect.  She  had  not  been  asked  to  see 
Mr.  Pritchard  since  his  indisposition,  which  was  sup- 
posed to  be  trifling. 

Afra's  account  indicated  something  serious.  She 
found  Larry  sitting  up  in  bed,  not  perceptibly  altered 
in  appearance  since  they  last  met.  On  a  table  near 
him  were  the  wafers.  The  red  comforter  was  thrown 
across  his  feet.  As  soon  as  she  entered  the  room,  he 
asked  his  sister,  who  stood  by  with  red  eyelids  and 
trembling  lips,  to  leave  them  for  a  little  while. 

This  unexpected  request  disconcerted  Bo.     She  be- 


THE  LAST  OF  BO   DISNEY.  Ill 

gan  to  understand  what  Afra  meant  by  his  being  a 
little  queer.  Besides  his  labored  breathing,  his  man- 
ner, ordinarily  slow  and  halting,  was  hurried  and  eager 
with  suppressed  excitement.  His  eyes  brightened  at 
her  approach. 

"  Little  Bo  !  "  he  cried,  in  a  tone  full  of  relief.  "  I 
knew  you  would  come  !  " 

"Could  any  one  doubt  it?  "  she  asked,  putting  aside 
her  hat  to  show  that  she  intended  to  be  useful.  "  What 
can  I  do  for  you,  Mr.  Pritchard  ?  " 

"  Bo,"  he  said  entreatingly,  as  if  to  preclude  all  pos- 
sibility of  denial,  ''  it  is  n't  ivhat  you  will  do  for  me  ; 
that  you  have  already  promised.  It  is  ivhen  you  will 
do  it." 

Bo  changed  color.  She  understood  Avhat  he  wanted. 
A  man  puts  into  one  request  only  the  meaning  that 
pleaded  in  Larry's  voice  and  eyes.  She  answered 
with  a  look  of  consternation. 

He  seemed  glad  not  to  be  interrupted,  and  went  on 
liurriedly,  as  if  there  was  not  a  moment  to  be  lost.  He 
even  took  up  his  watch,  that  lay  on  the  bed  by  his  side. 

"  You  promised  to  marry  me  next  month,  and  I 
made  that  time  suit  me  because  it  suited  you ;  but,  Bo," 
holding  out  the  watch  to  her  with  sad  earnestness ; 
"  Time's  hands  have  been  put  forward  a  month,  — 
put  forward  almost  to  the  last  stroke  for  me." 

"  O  Mr.  Pritchard,  I  will  do  what  you  want  this 
month,"  cried  Bo,  the  tears  welling  up  at  sight  of  a 
man  calmly  measuring  time  on  the  shores  of  eternity. 

"  This  month  ?  "  his  breathing  becoming  every  mo- 
ment more  difi&cult.  "  Forgive  me,  dear,  but  I  mean 
this  day." 


278  JACK  HORNER. 

"  This  day  ?  "  looking  terrified.  "  But  —  but  you 
have  no  license  ;  my  mother  is  not  here  "  — 

"  I  have  the  license.  I  got  it  the  day  you  consented 
to  marry  me.  These  are  troublesome  times,  and  re- 
membering poor  Dallas's  experience  I  determined  to 
have  everything  ready,  as  far  as  I  could.  You  see  I 
vras  right,"  lying  back  exhausted.  "  I  forgot  to  send 
for  your  mother,  but  she  will  forgive  us." 

Bo  had  not  much  time  to  consider.  The  doctor  and 
Rothwell  arrived  almost  together.  The  doctor  agreed 
with  Larry  that  what  was  to  be  done  should  be  done 
quickly.  Larry's  spurious  strength,  born  of  excite- 
ment and  kept  up  by  force  of  will,  could  not  last  long. 

Larry,  seeing  Bo's  consternation,  tried  to  smile  as  he 
feebly  held  out  his  hand  to  her.  "  You  see,  dear,  May 
after  all  is  a  lucky  month  for  me.  You  will  be  my 
wife  in  May." 

"  O  Mr.  Pritchard  !  "  sobbed  Bo  again. 

"  And  I  hope  it  will  not  be  unlucky  for  you,"  he 
said  wistfully,  pressing  her  little  hand  in  his  great  bony 
fingers. 

He  did  not  speak  again  until  the  time  came  for  him 
to  repeat  the  promises  made  "  until  death  us  do  part." 
As  he  said  this,  he  turned  his  face  to  her  with  a  tender 
smile. 

Bo  felt  as  if  her  heart  would  break,  the  words, 
which  for  most  men  mean  so  much,  for  him  meant  so 
little,  —  a  moment,  a  breath  of  time. 

Within  the  room  reigned  a  solemn  stillness,  which 
awed  to  silence  even  Jack  in  his  adjoining  nursery,  of 
which  the  door  stood  open.  Miss  Patty,  at  the  foot  of 
her  brother's  bed,  wept  silently.     The  doctor,  who  as- 


THE  LAST  OF  BO  DISNEY.  279 

sisted  at  so  many  sad  scenes  of  life's  drama,  looked  on 
as  a  witness  to  the  solemn  contract  Without,  cheer- 
ful street  noises  seemed  so  near  and  yet  so  far. 

The  rumble  of  wheels,  cries  of  ripe  strawberries,  and 
the  laughter  of  children  coming  through  open  windows 
sounded  in  the  darkened  chamber  like  echoes  from 
another  world. 

Finally  came  the  words,  "  I  pronounce  you  man  and 
wife." 

When  all  was  over,  Larry,  with  the  old-fashioned 
manners  of  his  youth,  raised  Bo's  hand  reverently  to 
his  lips  and  faintly  called  her  "  Mrs.  Pritchard." 

And  Bo  remembered  with  a  great  rush  of  feeling 
that  she  had  told  her  mother  she  had  not  seen  the  last 
of  Bo  Disney. 


XXX. 

SICK    AXD    IX   PRISOX. 

The  afternoon  sun  shone  brightly  through  the 
grated  windows  of  a  long  room,  furnished  with  a 
double  row  of  iron  cots,  in  each  of  which  lay  a  wounded 
soldier,  whose  white  face  was  set  to  conquer  agony. 
These  were  the  dangerously  wounded  in  a  Washing- 
ton prison  hospital.  Not  a  groan,  not  a  sigh,  escaped 
their  pale  lips,  but  their  drawn  features  and  the  occa- 
sional uplifting  of  glazed  eyes  bespoke  the  extreme  of 
human  sufifering.  One  man  had  had  his  arm  shot 
away,  another  his  leg  amputated,  a  third,  with  a  hole 
through  his  lungs,  breathed  heavily,  as  if  each  respira- 
tion was  a  separate  pang.  The  dews  of  death  were 
gathering  on  the  brows  of  more  than  one.  In  a  small 
room  opening  out  of  this  common  ward  lay  Hugh  Dal- 
las, a  prisoner,  wounded  and  alone.  His  pallid  face, 
with  eyes  closed  against  the  glare  blazing  through  a 
curtainless  window,  knit  brows,  and  sternly  set  jaw,  was 
a  picture  of  uncomplaining  anguish.  The  loss  of  a  leg, 
pain,  thirst,  he  bore  with  a  soldier's  fortitude.  The 
thought  that  he  should  never  again  see  home,  kindred, 
and,  above  all,  the  woman  he  loved,  forced  tears  from 
his  eyes.  Great  drops,  wrung  from  his  soul,  stole  from 
beneath  his  lashes  and  trickled  over  his  white  cheeks, 
and  he  had  not  strength  to  wipe  them  away. 


SICK  AND  IN  PRISON.  281 

The  head  of  his  bed  was  turned  towards  a  window, 
whose  iron  gratings  cast  their  shadow  on  a  vivid 
ground  of  sunshine  on  the  wall  opposite  his  feet. 
Whenever  he  opened  his  aching  eyes,  they  rested  on 
this  dazzling  picture  of  prison  bars.  Flies  buzzed 
about  his  ears  and  stung  his  face  and  hands.  His 
tongue  was  parched.  The  glare,  noise,  and  dust  from 
the  street,  and  the  stifling  odors  of  an  overcrowded 
hospital,  added  their  small  miseries  to  his  sufferings. 
The  weary  hours  wore  on,  broken  only  at  long  inter- 
vals by  a  flying  visit  from  a  careless  hospital  attend- 
ant, and  with  no  hope  of  relief  except  by  death.  His 
memory,  so  far  as  he  was  capable  of  mental  effort, 
dwelt  in  the  past.  On  one  occasion,  he  did  not  know 
what  day  or  hour,  he  was  suddenly  and  vividly  re- 
minded of  young  Fairfax.  Sometliing  intangible 
brought  up  the  scene  in  the  railway-car.  He  was  too 
weak  to  grasp  the  clue,  or  to  associate  ideas,  or  even  to 
open  his  eyes.  He  only  remembered.  With  a  faint, 
indefinable  sense  of  pleasure,  he  drew  a  long  breath, 
and  seemed  to  see  again  the  smile  of  relief  flicker 
round  Fairfax's  pale  lips.  The  intangible  something 
became  more  and  more  apparent.  A  fresh,  sweet  odor 
swept  over  him  like  a  breath  from  Paradise.  A  half 
smile  played  about  his  own  lips  as  he  recognized  the 
smell  of  eau  de  cologne,  which,  he  had  said,  would  re- 
mind him  of  Madelaine  and  Fairfax  to  his  dying  day. 

The  reviving  odor  evoked  a  memory  that  he  felt  al- 
most as  a  presence.  He  was  almost  afraid  to  breathe, 
lest  it  should  vanish.  While  his  spirit  was  refreshed 
by  fancies,  which  are  said  to  take  possession  of  the 
soul  on  the  eve  of  its  departure,  the  glare  in  the  room 


282  JACK  HORNER. 

was  tempered  to  a  soft  twilight,  a  breeze  rippled  over 
his  face  and  through  his  hair,  a  cool,  soft  hand  was 
laid  upon  his  forehead.  Then  he  ventured  cautiously 
to  open  his  eyes,  and  they  met,  not  the  blue-coated 
orderly  who  sometimes  asked  if  he  wanted  anything, 
but  Mrs.  Key's  rebel-colored  eyes,  looking  down  on 
him  with  the  tender  sympathy  which  brings  the  human 
face  nearest  the  divine. 

Had  Dallas  waked  up  in  the  next  world  to  happi- 
ness, his  countenance  could  not  have  expressed  more 
delight  than  when  he  feebly  uttered,  — 

"  Madelaine  !  " 

The  flutter  of  her  great  feather  fan  was  more  re- 
freshing than  the  rustle  of  angels'  wings. 


XXXI. 

POOR   TIMBERLAKE. 

Mrs.  Key  found  thcat  Dorset  had  been  right  in  sup- 
posing he  could  be  of  use  to  her  in  Washington.  He 
had  had  no  difficulty  in  explaining  his  long  absence 
from  the  army.  Left  for  dead  with  so  many  of  his 
comrades  within  the  enemy's  lines,  his  reappearance  in 
the  flesh  was  the  occasion  of  great  wonderment  and  re- 
joicing among  his  acquaintances,  with  whom  he  was  a 
favorite,  and  at  headquarters,  where  he  was  valued  as 
an  officer.  His  present  condition  amply  testified  to  an 
illness  which  had  rendered  him  unfit  for  service.  He 
was  treated  with  the  consideration  due  one  who  has 
been  lost  and  found,  dead  and  made  alive  again.  He 
succeeded  in  obtaining  permission  for  Mrs.  Key  to  attend 
the  rebel  Major  Dallas  who  was  supposed  to  be  dying. 
Rothwell's  name  secured  for  her  a  refuge  in  a  girl's 
school  under  the  care  of  his  sisters,  who  received  her 
as  one  of  themselves.  The  difficulties  of  her  enter- 
prise at  this  point  ended  in  a  way  surprising  to  herself. 

Dallas  did  not  ask  how  she  came  to  be  with  him. 
He  had  thought  of  her  and  longed  to  see  her  so  per- 
sistently that  her  presence  seemed  only  the  natural  se- 
quence of  things.  He  was  too  weak  to  bridge  over, 
even  in  imagination,  the  difficulties  which  intervened 
between  her  determination  to  come  and  its  accomplish- 


284  JACK  HORNER. 

ment.  He  could  only  murmur,  "  How  good  of  you," 
and  close  his  eyes  and  let  himself  be  ministered  to. 

The  surgeon  in  charge  had  impressed  upon  Mrs. 
Key  that  he  was  to  be  kept  quiet  and  without  excite- 
ment. At  long  intervals,  he  talked  a  little.  He  asked 
about  his  friends  at  home,  and  Madelaine  said  she  had 
a  letter  for  him  when  he  was  well  enough  to  read  it. 

He  smiled  and  whispered  softly,  '•  AVhen  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  happy,  Madelaine,"  he  said  after 
a  while,  seeing  the  shadow  that  had  fallen  on  her  face, 
and  trying  to  comfort  her  for  the  pain  she  suffered  for 
him. 

"  O  Hugh,  and  your  leg !  "  burst  from  her,  his 
words  touching  the  core  of  her  thoughts. 

"  ]My  leg  has  gone,  dear,  but "'  —  his  face  lighting  up 
with  great  joy. 

"  But  "  —  she  interrupted  breathlessly. 

"But  yoii  have  come,"  he  said,  with  a  contented 
smile,  while  she  buried  her  face  in  the  bedclothes. 

She  knew  that  nothing  would  unman  him  so  much 
as  her  tears.  She  rose  from  that  moment  of  weakness 
with  renewed  strength.  She  did  not  give  way  again, 
but  was  so  cheerful  and  helpful  that  the  surgeon,  on  his 
next  round,  congratulated  her  on  the  improvement  in 
her  patient. 

"If  he  goes  on  like  this,"  he  said,  "Major  Dallas 
will  be  about  again  in  time  for  his  exchange  ;  "  and 
he  went  away  greatly  impressed  by  the  prisoner's  nice- 
looking  friend. 

On  one  occasion,  Hugh,  opening  his  eyes  after  a 
long  sleep,  asked  quietly,  and  as  if  resuming  a  convei'- 
sation,  — 


POOR   TIMBERLAKE.  285 

"  How  was  Jack  when  you  came  away  ?  " 

Madelaiae,  to  whom  the  question  was  sudden  and 
unexpected,  reminding  her  of  Jack's  father,  reddened 
as  she  answered,  "  As  well  and  saucy  as  ever." 

Hugh,  who  noted  her  countenance  as  a  mariner  stud- 
ies the  heavens,  saw  the  change  and  wondered  why 
she  should  blush  at  mention  of  Jack. 

"  Poor  Timberlake,"  he  continued,  api3arently  with- 
out comiection,  "was  killed  at  Chancellorsville." 

Mrs.  Key  looked  at  him  keenly.     Was  he  wandering  ? 

Hugh  understood  her  glance,  "  Oh,  I  'm  all  right," 
he  exjjlained,  nodding  cheerfully.  "  Now  that  Timber- 
lake  has  gone,  there  can  be  no  harm  in  telling  you  that 
he  left  Jack  at  your  aunt's  door." 

Madelaine  leaned  forward,  deeply  interested. 

"  A  pretty  woman  who  lodged  in  the  house  with 
him  persuaded  him  to  do  it.  I  did  all  I  could  to  pre- 
vent it.  But  Timberlake  was  a  great  woman's  man 
and  the  tenderest-hearted  creature.  Poor  fellow!  he 
said  he  would  not  live  to  see  the  sequel." 

This  was  the  longest  speech  he  had  made  since  he 
was  wounded.  It  cost  him  an  effort,  but  he  wanted  to 
make  the  explanation.  It  had  always  galled  him  that 
he  knew  more  of  Jack  than  he  could  divulge.  It 
seemed  unfair  to  Miss  Pritchard  and  Madelaine. 
Now  that  he  had  made  a  clean  breast  of  the  little  he 
knew,  he  felt  relieved  as  a  man  who  has  performed  a 
long-delayed  duty. 

He  lay  back  on  his  bed  resting  after  the  unusual 
exertion.  He  looked  so  pale  and  exhausted  that  Made- 
laine decided  that  he  must  not  talk  until  he  was 
stronger. 


286  JACK  HORNER. 

Presently,  when  he  essayed  to  speak  again,  she  placed 
a  warning  finger  on  her  lips. 

"  I  was  only  going  to  say  that  I  suppose  we  shall 
never  know  Jack's  mystery.  But  I  will  not  speak 
again  until  you  give  me  leave,  dear  mistress,"  he  said 
like  a  docile  child,  closing  his  eyes  that  her  face  might 
not  tempt  him  to  conversation.  What  he  said  prob- 
ably meant  little  to  himself,  but  it  touched  Madelaine 
deeply.  She  could  see  that  he  felt  it  a  duty  to  tell 
her  what  he  knew  about  Jack.  It  could  be  no  less 
hers  to  tell  him  what  further  discoveries  had  been 
made.  He  was  under  the  impression  that  she  knew  as 
little  as  himself.  It  would  be  disingenuous,  to  say  the 
least,  to  leave  him  under  that  impression.  Having 
been  a  witness  to  the  first  scene  in  the  little  drama, 
it  was  only  natural  that  he  should  be  interested  in  the 
denouement.  In  fact,  he  had  always  shown  especial 
fondness  for  Jack,  greatly,  no  doubt,  because  of  her 
love  for  him.  He  had  once  declared  that  when  he 
and  Madelaine  were  married  he  would  adopt  Jack,  if 
Miss  Patty  would  consent.  Remembering  him  as  he 
said  this,  a  dashing  soldier,  resplendent  in  a  new  uni- 
form and  lusty  with  youth  and  health,  the  tears  rushed 
to  Madelaine's  eyes  as  she  looked  now  on  Hngh's 
maimed  fignire  and  bloodless,  pain-worn  face. 

Some  day  when  he  was  stronger  and  better  able  to 
stand  a  surprise,  she  would  tell  him  that  Jack's  father 
had  been  found,  and  that  he  was  a  —  well,  she  would 
see  if  he  were  well  enough  to  stand  that.  Meanwhile 
Dallas  continued  to  improve.  He  was  well  tended, 
comfortable,  and  happy  having  Madelaine  near  him. 
In  a  day  or  two  he  found  he  could  indulge  in  a  little 


POOR   TIMDERLAKE.  287 

talk  and  not  feel  the  worse  for  it.  Cheerful  conversa- 
tion being  part  of  the  treatment  which  was  making 
him  stronger  and  better  able,  mentally  and  physically, 
to  bear  his  grievous  misfortune. 

The  surgeon  sometimes  tarried  a  few  minutes  to  join 
in  the  talk.  He  felt  that  what  was  good  for  the  pa- 
tient was  good  for  the  physician,  in  whose  daily  round 
there  were  few  things  so  pleasant  as  Mrs.  Key's  voice, 
whose  lingering  sweetness  dwelt  in  his  ear  like  a 
caress  long  after  he  had  left  Major  Dallas's  bedside. 
He  had  taken  up  the  impression  that  Mrs.  Key  was 
Dallas's  sister,  who  by  some  happy  chance  had  been 
allowed  to  tend  his  patient,  whose  sister  and  misfor- 
tunes made  him  almost  forget  that  the  major  was  a 
rebel. 

It  was  not  long  before  Jack,  with  other  home  sub- 
jects, came  up  again  between  Madelame  and  Dallas. 
The  latter  had  been  speaking  of  the  idiotic  way  he 
lost  his  head  the  day  he  saw  Mrs.  Manning  at  Miss 
Pritchard's. 

"  I  'm  pretty  sure  she  is  the  woman  who  persuaded 
poor  Timberlake  —  Tim,  we  used  to  call  him  —  to  leave 
Jack  at  your  aunt's  door." 

"  You  had  seen  her  before  ?  "  said  Madelaine,  who 
had  found  some  sewing  to  do,  and  was  making  a  green 
curtain  for  Dallas's  window. 

It  was  an  infinite  satisfaction  to  Hugh  to  have  her 
there,  tethered  with  a  needle  and  thread.  A  woman 
sewing  is  a  more  restful  picture  than  one  with  idle 
hands.  It  seems  a  guarantee  that  she  will  abide 
awhile.  The  curve  of  Madelaine's  neck,  the  deep  fur- 
row in  the   parting  of  her  luxuriant  haii',  her  white. 


288  JACK  HORNER. 

downcast  lids,  and  the  movement  of  her  slim  fingers 
were  all  delightful  to  contemplate. 

"  Yes,  once  foi-  a  few  minutes,  but  I  could  not  remem- 
ber where.  That  quick-witted  little  friend  of  yours,  Miss 
Disney,  saw  how  puzzled  1  was,  and  forever  afterward 
suspected  me  of  knowing  more  than  I  cared  to  teU." 

"  Bo's  wits  wear  seven-league  boots;  they  arrive  at 
a  conclusion  before  other  people's  set  out." 

"  I  believe  she  gave  me  credit  for  being  one  of  Jack's 
relations  ?  "  with  a  shy,  sidelong  glance. 

"  Yes,"  said  Madelaine  gravely,  with  an  over-head- 
and-ears  blush  that  reddened  even  the  line  of  parting 
in  her  hair,  while  her  glance  was  focused  on  the  eye  of 
the  needle  she  was  intent  on  threading  ;  "  she  assigned 
you  the  part  of  sister." 

"  Sister  ?  "  echoed  Hugh,  with  a  laugh  such  as  he 
had  not  had  since  Chancellorsville.     "  Sister  ?  " 

Then  Madelaine  told  him  Bo's  story  of  Moses  in  the 
bulrushes. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  exclaimed  Hugh,  "  I  believe  she  nearly 
made  a  ten  strike." 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  never  knovr  Jack's  mystery," 
he  said  after  a  pause,  in  which  the  pathetic  look  of 
patience  resettled  on  his  face. 

"  Hugh,"  said  Madelaine,  with  an  attempt  at  light- 
ness, but  failing  to  keep  a  certain  meaning  out  of  her 
voice  or  the  rising  color  out  of  her  face. 

He  looked  at  her,  his  great,  hollow  eyes  lit  up  with 
expectancy.     "  You  have  found  out  all  about  Jack  ?  " 

"  I  have  found  out  who  his  father  is,"  in  low,  un- 
steady tones,  astonished  at  his  discernment. 

"  Then  I  knoAv  who  it  is,"  with  eager  interest. 


POOR   TIMDERLAKE.  289 

**  How  can  you  know  ?  "  turning  pale. 

"  I  guessed  it  long  ago,  and  then  put  it  aside  as  im- 
probable." 

"  O  Hugh  !  " 

"  Is  it  not  Hardwick  the  Georgian  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured,  more  and  more  amazed  and 
bewildered. 

"  You  see,  dear,  when  I  was  in  camp  the  long  dreary- 
winter  before  the  battle,  I  had  only  your  letters  to  live 
on.  I  read  them  so  often  that  I  saw  in  them  more 
than  you  consciously  put  in  them.  You  wrote  con- 
stantly of  Hardwick  and  Jack,  and  somehow,  I  can't 
tell  how,  they  began  to  be  associated  in  my  mind,  until, 
at  last,  one  day  it  suddenly  flashed  over  me  that  Hard- 
wick might  be  Jack's  father.  It  was  the  merest  sug- 
gestion at  first,  but  it  gi'ew  until  it  became  almost  a 
conviction.  And  do  you  know,  Madelaine  "  —  wist- 
fully. 

"  What,  dear  ?  " 

"  I  was  beginning  to  get  jealous  of  Hardwick." 

"  0  Hugh  !  " 

"  Those  far  Southern  fellows  are  often  very  fasci- 
nating, and  I  was  glad  when  you  wrote  me  he  had 
gone." 

"  And  did  you  doubt  me  ?  "  trying  to  be  playful  as 
she  clasped  his  gaunt,  outstretched  hand. 

"  God  forbid !  I  knew  you  would  be  true.  But  I 
did  envy  Hardwick  having  you  so  near  him." 

"  He  and  I  were  farther  apart  than  you  can  imag- 
ine, dear  Hugh,"  she  said  earnestly  ;  and  Dallas  looked 
relieved. 

*'  Anyhow,  I  have  you  now,"    pressing   her  hand. 


290  JACK  HORNER. 

"  He  laughs  best  who  laughs  last,"  trying  with  a  smile 
to  dispel  the  trouble  in  her  eyes. 

Madelaine  did  not  dare  to  say  more,  lest  the  whole 
truth  should  escape  her.  Remembering  her  own  hor- 
ror at  learning  that  Hardwick  was  not  Hardwick  and 
a  Southerner,  but  an  enemy,  she  knew  it  would  not 
be  a  good  sleeping  potion  for  Hugh,  who  needed  all  the 
repose  he  could  get. 

The  day  was  coming  to  an  end.  The  hour  had 
arrived  for  her  to  return  to  the  Rothwells'.  Kneeling 
by  Hugh's  bedside,  she  kissed  his  hand  and  bade  him 
good-night. 

"  Good-night.  Rest  well.  I  will  come  again  with 
the  morning." 

Then  she  moved  noiselessly  about  the  room,  putting 
it  in  order  and  arranging  things  for  his  comfort.  She 
paused  at  the  door  to  wave  him  another  good-by. 

He  looked  so  much  more  comfortable,  as  well  as 
better  and  stronger,  than  when  she  ariived,  that  she 
thanked  God  she  had  come. 

"  Good  -  night,  good  -  night,"  she  repeated,  wafting 
from  her  lips  a  farewell  Avhich  he  returned  with  his 
patient  smile.  On  the  way  out,  she  met  the  night 
attendant  coming  in. 

"  Remember,"  she  said,  "  if  yoa  take  good  care  of 
Major  Dallas,  I  will  reward  you." 

"  All  roight,"  said  the  man,  an  Irishman,  who,  like 
most  of  his  compatriots,  had  a  keen  eye  and  soft  tongue 
for  the  sex.  "  It  's  somethin'  av  a  rewarrd  to  have  the 
likes  av  yez  comin'  an'  goan,  anyhow." 


XXXII. 

WHO   LOSES    HIS   LIFE    FINDS   IT. 

Madelaine  had  not  been  gone  long  when  Hugh, 
who  had  been  lying  with  closed  eyes  so  that  their  last 
impression  should  be  of  her,  opened  them  at  the  sound 
of  footsteps  in  his  room.  He  expected  to  see  the  old 
Irishman  who  had  charge  of  the  ward  at  night.  In- 
stead of  his  slouching  figure  and  shambling  gait,  he 
was  surprised  to  see  a  young  man,  who  struck  him 
as  being  as  good-looking  a  fellow  as  he  had  ever 
encountered,  tall,  with  the  straight  back,  well-braced 
shoulders,  and  easy  movements  of  a  trained  soldier. 
In  addition,  he  had  a  handsome  face,  fresh  and  frank 
as  a  boy's.  His  appearance  was  none  the  less  interest- 
ing for  a  certain  look  of  delicacy  which  spoke  of  re- 
cently recovered  health  after  long  illness.  His  features 
were  a  little  sharpened,  and  his  fine-grained  skin  was 
unsunned  and  fair  as  a  girl's.  The  direct  glance  of  his 
eyes  and  his  mouth  were  manly  enough. 

He  nodded  pleasantly  on  meeting  Hugh's  surprised 
glance,  and  striking  a  match,  asked  if  Major  Dallas 
objected  to  pipe  smoke.  Hugh  drew  in  a  long  breath 
of  satisfaction.  The  newcomer  had  struck  the  right 
chord,  the  only  one,  probably,  to  which  Hugh's  sen- 
sibilities would  have  responded  unconditionally. 

"  Object  ?  Why,  my  friend,  I  believe  it  is  the  one 
thins:  I  should  like." 


292  JACK  HORNER. 

*'  So  ?  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  smoke  your- 
self?" 

"  If  I  may  ?  "  wistfully. 

"  If  you  may  ?  Who  's  to  hinder  ?  I  'm  Loss  here 
to-night,"  stuffing  the  bowl  of  a  rakish-looking,  short- 
stemmed  pipe  and  giving  it  to  the  invalid.  Then  he 
proceeded  to  arrange  Hugh's  pillows,  and  dexterously 
raised  him  to  a  position  to  enjoy  a  smoke. 

"  There !  "  exclaimed  the  stranger,  when  the  pipe 
began  to  draw  and  Hugh's  head  to  be  encircled  with 
clouds,  "  that 's  a  thing  a  woman  nurse  never  thinks 
of,  eh  ?  " 

A  calm  look  of  content  overspread  Hugh's  face  with 
the  first  whiff,  warm  and  comforting  as  a  mother's  kiss, 
and  more  fragrant  to  the  sick  man  than  the  scent  of 
new-mown  hay. 

"  That 's  good,"  he  grunted  between  his  set  teeth, 
leisurely  scrutinizing  the  newcomer  from  behind  the 
lashes  of  eyes  half -closed  in  the  delicious  languor  of 
a  smoke  after  a  long  fast. 

He  found  the  stranger  altogether  above  the  grade 
of  hospital  nurse  and  with  none  of  the  professional  air 
of  a  surgeon.  Although  he  wore  no  uniform,  he  could 
only  be  a  soldier.  No  man  not  bi-ed  to  arms  could 
have  the  movements  and  bearing  of  this  benefactor, 
who  had  given  him  a  pipe  and  with  it  the  dreamland 
of  soothing  memories,  a  phantasmagoria  of  past  plea- 
sures. Home  and  its  loves,  campaigns  and  comrades, 
combats  and  victories,  were  all  blended  in  the  clouds  of 
smoke  that  issued  from  Hugh's  lips. 

The  stranger  had  filled  a  pipe  for  himself,  and  there 
was  a  long  silence  between  them,  in  which  Hugh  aban- 


WHO  LOSES  HIS  LIFE  FINDS  IT.       293 

doned    himself   to  the   enjoyment  of   his   new-found 
luxury. 

"  You  seem  to  know  all  about  taking  care  of  a  fel- 
low that 's  —  that 's  —  down,"  he  ventured  at  length, 
not  liking  to  ask  the  newcomer  the  direct  question  as 
to  how  he  came  by  his  skill. 

The  stranger,  who  was  looking  round  on  the  rough 
accommodations  of  the  room  with  evident  disgust, 
replied,  — 

"You  see,  I  have  lately  been  down  myself,  and 
I  've  learned  a  thing  or  two.  It  was  a  darky  who 
first  suggested  a  pipe,  and  if  he  had  been  graduated  in 
medicine,  he  could  n't  have  advised  a  better  thing." 

Hugh  grunted  a  grateful  assent.  Luckily,  there  is 
no  need  of  conventionality  in  a  sick-room.  Nothing 
more  passed  between  then.  Another  long  silence 
ensued,  during  which  Hugh  laid  aside  his  pipe  and 
dozed  off  to  sleep,  the  first  beneficent  effect  of  his 
new  friend's  prescription.  When  his  deep,  regular 
breathing  betrayed  that  he  had  sunk  into  profound 
slumber,  Dorset  went  quietly  to  his  bedside  and  looked 
at  him  long  and  earnestly.  Under  the  coarse  bed- 
clothing  the  outline  of  the  sleeper's  mutilated  figure 
was  plainly  discernible.  His  face,  though  calm,  was 
bloodless  and  worn  with  suffering.  His  lips  were  set 
with  a  pathetic  expression  of  great  patience.  His 
closed  eyes  were  deep-sunken  and  their  sockets  dark 
with  shadows. 

The  stranger  felt  a  compression  of  heart,  and  his 
countenance  quivered,  as  he  looked  on  the  broken  sol- 
dier. This  wreck  of  a  noble  humanity  was  the  man  of 
all  others  he  had  envied,  the  man  whom  he  had  de- 


294  JACK   HORNER. 

sired  with  an  overwhelming  desire   to  see,  as  the  most 
favored  of  men. 

Enemy  and  rival  though  Dallas  was,  It  was  impossi- 
ble for  the  man  by  his  side  to  feel  for  him  anything 
harsher  than  supreme  sympathy.  Pity  would  have 
been  a  degradation  to  the  man  who,  having  done  and 
suffered  all,  waited  patiently  for  the  next  call  of  duty, 
which  to  the  looker-on  seemed  inevitably  to  die.  There 
even  came  to  the  watcher  the  feeling  that  he  who  loses 
his  life  for  duty  finds  it.  As  John  Dorset  looked 
down  on  Hugh  Dallas's  pure,  calm  face,  the  confession 
was  wrung  from  his  soul,  "  In  the  battle  of  life,  thou 
hast  conquered." 


XXXIII. 

A   LOVE   LETTER. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Key,  —  I  hope  you  will  not  be 
grieved  to  hear  from  me  once  more.  Fate  has  brought 
us  together  so  often,  and  for  me  so  kindly,  that  I  can- 
not go  back  to  the  army  without  asking  if,  on  this  last 
day,  there  is  not  something  I  can  do  for  you  or  your 
patient.  And  since  you  have  decided  that  we  may 
not  meet  again,  I  feel  that  I  must  bid  you  a  last  fare- 
well. I  owe  you  so  much  more  than  life  that  I  must 
tell  you  that  henceforth  my  chief  thought  in  life  and 
my  last  in  death  will  be  yours.  I  pray  that  all  hap- 
l^iness  may  come  to  you. 

It  has  been  great  happiness  to  me  to  know  you.  I 
dare  not  think  what  it  would  have  been  had  I  been 
blessed  with  your  friendship  in  a  time  of  peace.  But 
you  will  even  now  let  me  think  of  you  as  a  friend,  and 
I  dare  ask  for  your  continued  interest  in  Jack.  Let 
me  know  if  there  is  anything  I  can  do  for  you  or  for 
Major  Dallas,  whom  I  honor  as  a  bi'ave  man  and  your 
friend. 

Believe  me  now,  as  ever,  yours  to  command, 

John  Dorset. 

This  letter  was  delivered  to  Mrs.  Key  early  the  fol- 
lowing morning,  as  she  was  leaving  the  Rothwells'  to 


296  JACK  IIORXER. 

return  to  Hugh.  She  had  just  stolen  quietly  out  of  the 
house  at  great  pains  not  to  disturb  the  sleeping  family, 
and,  hesitating  to  go  back  for  the  same  reason,  she 
read  the  letter  on  the  doorstep.  Written  with  the  im- 
petuosity of  strong  feeling  and  a  desire  to  restrain 
love  to  the  pace  of  friendship,  its  big,  shaky  letters 
moved  Madelaine  as  Dorset's  voice,  which  always  trem- 
bled when  he  spoke  to  her. 

The  messenger  wanted  to  know  if  tbere  was  an  an- 
swer. Having  no  means  to  send  a  written  reply,  she 
told  him  to  thank  the  gentleman  who  sent  it,  and  say 
there  was  no  other  answer.  Then  she  thrust  the  letter 
in  her  pocket  and  hurried  to  the  hospital,  rejoicing  for 
once  that  it  was  far  away.  She  was  glad  of  a  long 
walk  in  which  to  steady  lier  nerves. 

Although  day  was  only  beginning  to  break,  the  town 
was  already  astir,  and  as  usual  after  a  great  battle,  in 
a  state  of  ferment.  Chancellorsville  was  on  every 
tongue.  The  military  situation  was  the  only  thing 
thought  of.  The  streets  were  full  of  soldiers.  The 
populace  was  in  an  anxious,  angry  mood.  Madelaine, 
going  swiftly  and  silently  through  the  great,  ill-paved 
thoroughfares,  heard  curses  loud  and  deep  against  reb- 
els, and  sardonic  rejoicings  over  the  death  of  Stonewall 
Jackson.  With  wildly-beating  heart,  she  felt  that  she 
was  indeed  in  the  enemy's  country. 

When  she  reached  Dallas's  room,  she  found  him 
asleep.  Ordinarily,  he  was  wide  awake,  patiently  wait- 
ing for  her  to  come  and  bathe  his  face,  give  him  his 
breakfast,  and  do  the  thousand  and  one  things  that 
refresh  an  invalid  after  a  night  of  wakefulness  and 
suffering.     Laying  aside  her  bonnet  and  gloves,  she 


A  LOVE  LETTER.  297 

glanced  round  the  room,  and  discovered  indications  that 
some  one  else  had  been  performing  these  offices  for  her 
patient.  Hugh's  face  was  placid  and  restful,  as  she 
had  not  seen  it  since  she  came.  His  hair  and  beard 
had  been  carefully  trimmed.  His  coarse  bedclothing 
had  been  exchanged  for  cool  linen  sheets,  and  his  head 
reclined  on  fresh,  white  pillows.  A  tempting  pitcher, 
tinkling  with  ice  and  beaded  with  coolness,  re|)laced 
the  rusty  tin  bucket  of  tepid  water.  Finally,  a  saucer 
of  ripe,  red  strawberries,  the  first  of  the  season,  stood  on 
a  table  near  his  bed,  a  delightful  bit  of  color  and  fra- 
grance in  the  gloom  of  the  jail-like  apartment. 

Mrs.  Key  wondered  silently  what  good  fairy  had 
been  at  work  during  her  absence.  It  was  not  long 
before  she  was  made  aware. 

After  a  while,  Hugh  waked  up,  and  met  her  wonder- 
ing glance  with  a  look  which  showed  that  he  appre- 
ciated her  mystification. 

"  You  are  wondering  to  see  me  looking  like  a  gentle- 
man once  more,"  passing  his  wan  hand  over  his  hair 
and  beard.     •'  You  don't  know  how  nice  it  feels." 

"  But  I  know  how  nice  it  looks.  You  are  positively 
handsome  this  morning,  Hugh.  Who  has  been  taking 
my  place  ?  It  must  have  been  a  man.  Nobody  but  a 
man  could  get  hair  and  beard  into  such  order." 

"  It  ^vas  a  man,"  heartily,  enjoying  her  puzzled  face. 

"  Surely  not  old  Pat." 

"  No,  it  was  a  barber." 

"  And  did  he  make  your  bed  and  bring  the  straw- 
berries ?  " 

"  No,  but  the  Samaritan  who  sent  the  barber  had 
all  these  things  done  for  me." 


298  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Then  the  Samaritan  must  have  friends  at  court. 
Such  sheets  and  such  pillows  ! 

"  I  should  n't  be  surprised.  He  looked  like  a  fellow 
with  friends  at  court." 

"  Here  's  a  pipe  !  Tobacco,  too  !  O  Hugh,  did  you 
enjoy  them  ?  " 

"  Enjoy  them  ?  "  his  face  brightening  with  the  old- 
time  flash.  "  You  may  bet  your  bottom  dollar  on  that, 
Madelaine  !  " 

Mi-s.  Key  laughed  with  delight  at  his  cheerfulness. 

"  I  won't  bet,  Hugh,  for  my  bottom  dollar  is  also 
my  top  dollar." 

Then  they  both  laughed,  and  after  a  while  Hugh 
proceeded  to  tell  her  slowly  and  at  intervals,  as  he  was 
able,  of  the  man  who  had  taken  old  Pat"s  place  the 
night  before,  and  sent  a  servant  to  look  after  him  as 
soon  as  he  was  awake. 

"  A  capital  fellow  with  such  a  good  face  and  con- 
foundedly handsome  eyes  !  Well,  I  suppose  if  I  were 
a  woman,  I  should  have  to  surrender  to  eyes  like  his." 

"  Eyes?  "  repeated  Madelaine,  vaguely  troubled. 

"  Yes.  Can  you  imagine  my  noticing  a  man's 
eyes  ?  I  suppose  I  should  never  have  remarked  them, 
had  I  been  on  my  legs  —  leg,  rather.  Being  laid  up 
here  makes  a  fellow  as  dependent  as  a  woman.  I  be- 
lieve I'm  beginning  to  look  at  things  from  a  woman's 
point  of  view." 

"  You  have  n't  an  ounce  of  woman  in  you,"  indig- 
nantly, "  except  your  tender  heart.  What  was  the 
color  of  your  new  friend's  eyes  ?  " 

Hugh  laughed. 

"  I  'm  not  such  a  woman,  after  all.     I  never  thought 


A  LOVE  LETTER.  299 

about  the  color.  Besides,  it  was  night  and  too  dark  to 
see  the  color.  I  could  only  see  them  shine  in  the 
lamplight  and  feel  their  friendliness.  They  were  the 
kind  of  eyes  that  tell  the  secrets  of  a  man's  heart." 

Madelaine  glowed  as  she  recognized  the  kind  of 
eyes. 

"  In  the  field,"  continued  Hugh,  "  I  dare  say  he 
would  much  rather  have  killed  me  than  not ;  but  last 
night,  he  looked  as  if  he  would  willingly  cut  off  his 
right  leg  to  replace  mine." 

"  God  bless  him  for  his  goodness  to  you,"  said 
Madelaine,  winking  away  the  tears  as  she  gave  Hugh 
the  strawberries. 

There  was  silence  while  he  partook  of  the  fruit 
with  a  show  of  enjoyment  he  scarcely  felt.  Presently, 
he  said  shyly,  "  Madelaine." 

She  looked  up. 

''  Madelaine,  do  mj/  eyes  show  how  much  I  love 
you  ?  " 

''  Yes,  Hugh,"  burst  from  her  aching  heart,  "  and 
they  are  so  kind  and  true,  I  feel  as  if  no  harm  could 
come  to  me  while  their  light  shines  on  me." 

"  I  'm  glad  of  that,  dearest.  Sometimes  I  cannot 
speak,  my  voice  fails  me  when  I  would  tell  you  how 
much  I  love  you.  But  my  eyes  follow  you  always 
with  a  message  of  love.  It  is  so  in  this  world,  and  will 
be  so  when  "  — 

He  did  not  finish  this  sentence,  so  full  of  solemn  and 
tender  significance  as  to  wring  Madelaine's  heart. 

The  surgeon  entered  the  room  rather  abruptly.  It 
was  an  unusual  hour  for  his  appearance,  and,  in  spite  of 
professional  calm,  his  manner  betrayed  haste. 


300  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Mrs.  Key,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "  that  young  Con- 
federate fellow  you  read  to  sometimes  would  like  to 
see  you.  Can  you  go  to  him?  It  might  be  a  com- 
fort." 

Madelaine  knew  from  the  surgeon's  face  that  the 
lad  was  dying,  that  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  She 
glanced  towards  Hugh.  She  dreaded  the  effect  of 
such  intelligence  on  his  spirits.  His  countenance  ex- 
pressed only  supreme  sympathy. 

"  Go,  dear,"  he  said  earnestly.  "  I  remember  how 
you  comforted  Fairfax." 

"  I  leave  you  the  letter  I  promised  you  when  you 
should  be  strong  enough  to  read.  It  will  interest  you 
while  I  'm  away.  I  '11  come  back  as  soon  as  I  can," 
she  said  tenderly,  pressing  the  letter  into  his  hand 
as  she  met  his  loving  glance. 

The  surgeon  placed  his  hand  on  the  door. 

"  I  don't  like  to  hurry  you,  but  "  — 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  interrupted  Madelaine,  following 
him  into  the  corridor,  where  he  told  her  the  lad  was 
sinking  fast. 

In  lier  haste,  she  had  given  Hugh  the  wrong  letter. 
Instead  of  one  from  home,  which  she  had  brought 
concealed  about  her  person  from  the  other  side  and 
placed  that  morning  in  her  pocket  for  Hugh,  thinking 
he  was  at  last  equal  to  the  exertion  of  reading,  she  had 
by  mistake  given  him   Dorset's  letter. 

Dallas  did  not  open  it  at  once.  Believing  it  was 
from  home,  he  raised  ifc  to  his  lips.  It  was  fragrant 
with  the  odor  of  violets  which  clung  to  Madelaine's 
belongings,  and  he  kissed  it  again.  He  looked  at  it 
lovingly,  but  he  did  not  read  it  for  some  time.    He  was 


A   LOVE  LETTER.  301 

willing  to  linger  over  the  pleasure  to  lengthen  out  its 
interest  during  Madelaine's  absence.  Besides,  in  spite 
of  Madelaine's  hope,  he  had  still  an  invalid's  indis- 
position for  exertion  of  even  so  ti-ifling  a  character  as 
reading  a  letter.  He  let  it  lie  before  him  and  studied 
its  outside.  He  was  not  surprised  to  find  it  addressed 
to  Mrs.  Key.  A  letter  to  a  Confederate  soldier  would 
have  been  a  dangerous  paper  with  which  to  run  the 
blockade.  His  thoughts  were  following  Madelaine, 
who,  on  more  than  one  occasion,  had  been  permitted  by 
the  surgeon  to  visit  some  of  his  Confederate  patients. 
The  boy  to  whom  she  had  just  been  called  had  been 
severely  wounded,  with  small  chance  of  recovery.  He 
had  received  her  ministrations  with  the  touching  grati- 
tude of  a  child.  Her  presence  had  been  his  only  com- 
fort in  the  long,  weary  days  of  dying.  "When  his  last 
hour  came,  with  a  pleading  glance  he  feebly  uttered  her 
name. 

It  was  while  she  held  the  dying  lad's  hand,  striving 
to  smooth  his  passage  from  life,  that  Hugh  Dallas 
opened  and  read  Dorset's  letter. 


XXXIV. 

THE   MYSTERY   SOLVED. 

"  John  Dorset,"  repeated  Hugh  thoughtfully,  glan- 
cing at  the  signature  before  reading  the  letter.  "  And 
who  can  John  Dorset  be  ? "  passing  his  hand  across 
his  forehead,  with  an  effort  to  remember  if  he  had 
heard  the  name  before. 

The  letter  was  even  more  of  a  task  than  he  had  an- 
ticipated. He  laid  it  down,  and,  leaning  his  head  back 
on  the  pillow,  tried  to  recall  whether  Madelaine  had 
said  it  was  from  his  sister.  He  could  not  remember 
that  she  had,  although  he  was  sure  he  had  received 
that  impression. 

At  length,  smiling  at  his  own  dilatoriness,  he  pro- 
ceeded languidly  to  read  the  letter,  as  the  best  way  of 
discovering  what  it  meant.  He  became  at  once  inter- 
ested, and  read  it  with  slow  and  close  attention.  He 
was  painfully  exercised  over  its  contents.  His  first 
impression  was  that  Madelaine's  loyalty  and  desire  to 
have  no  secrets  from  hira  had  induced  her  to  show 
him  a  letter  which  the  writer,  with  all  his  efforts  to 
the  contrary,  had  failed  to  make  anything  but  a  love 
letter. 

Reading  it  again,  the  significance  of  certain  facts, 
which  at  fii'st  seemed  inexplicable,  became  apparent. 
The  writer  was  evidently  a  Federal  soldier  who  had 


THE  MYSTERY  SOLVED.  303 

received  great  kindness  from  her,  and,  of  course, 
learned  to  love  her.  Now  where  could  she  have  met 
and  been  kind  to  him  ?  She  had  been  in  the  Federal 
capital  only  a  short  time,  and  all  her  waking  hours  had 
been  passed  at  Hugh's  bedside.  Going  over  the  letter 
again,  Dallas  noticed  more  particularly  the  allusion  to 
Jack.  The  blood  mounted  to  his  face  as  it  convinced 
him  that  the  writer  was  Jack's  father.  Yet  how  could 
he  reconcile  that  with  Madelaine's  statement,  that  Jack's 
father  was  Hardwick  ?  With  the  keen-witted  acuteness 
of  a  lover,  he  remembered  Madelaine's  blush  when  he 
spoke  of  Jack's  mystery.  That  blush  had  been  for 
Jack's  father.  A  chill  crept  over  him,  and  his  heart 
beat  heavily  as  he  asked  himself  if  it  were  possible 
that  Dorset  and  Hardwick  were  the  same  person,  if 
the  writer  of  the  letter  was  the  handsome  young  sol- 
dier Madelaine  had  nursed  through  a  long  illness,  and 
of  whose  condition  she  had  written  so  often  and  so 
feelingly?  If  this  were  so,  how  could  the  man  help 
loving  her  ? 

Dorset's  notice  of  Hugh  himself  was  a  still  greater 
surprise.  What  could  the  Yankee  have  to  do  with 
him  ?  It  came  to  Dallas  gradually  that  the  man  who 
had  been  with  him  the  night  before  was  Dorset. 

The  mei'est  suggestion  at  first,  the  idea  grew  until  he 
was  finally  persuaded  that  Madelaine's  lover  had  come 
to  see  him.  With  a  burst  of  indignation,  he  thought 
of  how  the  fellow,  strong  in  renewed  health,  good- 
looking,  untouched  by  the  casualties  of  war,  free  on 
the  side  of  the  heavy  battalions,  had  come  to  look  on 
him,  a  prisoner,  maimed,  stricken  unto  death.  Hugh 
groaned   aloud.     No    wrench  of   bone    and  sinew,  no 


304  JACK  HORNER. 

tearing  and  hacking  of  the  palpitating  flesh,  had  been 
equal  to  this. 

He  realized  now  that  the  letter  had  been  given  him 
by  mistake.  It  had  never  been  intended  that  he 
should  see  it.  It  bore  no  date,  but  it  was  evidently 
freshly  written,  and  breathed  of  to-day,  the  living, 
throbbing  present.  The  painless  feeling  with  which  he 
had  envied  Hardwick  Madelaine's  companionship  grew 
suddenly  into  a  sentiment  agonizing  and  strong  as 
death.  He  thought  of  the  days  and  weeks  in  which 
Dorset  and  Madelaine  had  been  thrown  together  in 
the  kindly  intimacy  of  patient  and  nurse,  of  the  tender 
bond  between  them  in  Jack,  the  child  of  one  and  loved 
of  both.  He  remembered  the  man's  great  physical 
beauty  and  how  Madelaine  loved  beauty.  He  thought 
of  his  own  relations  with  Madelaine,  avowedly  those  of 
friendship  on  her  part,  friendship  so  loyal  and  tender 
that  he  had  made  himself  satisfied  with  it,  although  he 
knew  it  lacked  the  divine  spark  which  would  have 
made  it  love.  That  which  he  had  been  blind  enough 
to  believe  was  buried  in  the  past.  He  knew  better 
now.     She  had  never  blushed  at  mention  of  his  name. 

"  My  love  !  my  only  love  !  "  was  the  cry  of  his  soul, 
which  could  not  readily  unloose  its  one  dream  of  hap- 
piness. He  never  knew  how  long  he  was  alone  with 
this  conflict  of  feeling,  but  it  did  the  work  of  years. 
The  great  battle  of  his  life  was  fought  then  and  there. 
He,  who  had  been  so  tenderly  guarded  against  exertion 
and  excitement,  struggled  alone  with  jealousy,  disap- 
pointed hopes,  physical  pain  and  weakness,  the  powers 
of  darkness  and  death. 

The  letter  was  a  great  shock,  which  seemed  to  loosen 


THE  MYSTERY  SOLVED.  305 

his  hold  on  life.  All  the  beneficent  influences  of 
Madelaine's  presence  and  care  were  undone  in  a  mo- 
ment. The  faint  flush  she  had  rejoiced  to  see  faded 
from  his  cheek,  his  eyes  lost  their  returning  lustre. 
He  looked  old  and  gray  and  haggard.  But  he  had 
conquered,  —  conquered  all  except  his  gi-eat  love.  That 
was  immortal. 

At  last,  through  great  physical  weakness,  he  ceased 
to  struggle.  Gentler  thoughts  came  to  him.  He  even 
blamed  himself  for  having  accepted  Madelaine's  friend- 
ship. He  ought  to  have  known  that  a  richly  endowed 
nature  like  hers  could  not  have  lost  the  power  to  love. 
She  was  no  blighted  creature,  upon  whom  the  curse  had 
fallen  never  to  blossom  with  life's  sweet  affections 
again.  And  Dorset,  how  could  he  blame  him  for 
loving  her  .'*  How  could  he  even  blame  him  for  com- 
ing to  see  the  man  whom  Madelaine  was  going  to 
marry?  In  Dorset's  place,  he  would  have  felt  the 
same  irresistible  desire  to  see  Madelaine's  future  hus- 
band. He  would  have  compassed  sea  and  land  to  get 
a  glimpse  of  the  man  who  had  won  her  affection,  to 
judge,  if  possible,  with  his  own  eyes,  if  he  were  worthy 
of  her.  And  Dorset  had  looked  worthy.  True,  he 
was  one  of  the  enemy,  but  the  word  "  enemy "  had 
no  meaning  for  Hugh  now.  The  world  and  its  strifes 
seemed  so  far  away. 

''  My  love  !  my  only  love  !  "  was  still  the  dumb  cry 
of  his  heart. 

Exhausted  by  the  struggle,  he  was  lying  white,  mo- 
tionless, and  with  closed  eyes  when  an  hospital  atten- 
dant, passing  through  the  room,  was  so  shocked  by 
the  change  in  his  appearance  that  he  believed  for  a 


306  JACK  HORNER. 

moment  Major  Dallas  was  dead.  Finding  that  he  still 
breathed,  the  man  asked  if  he  could  do  anything  for  him. 
Hugh  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at  him  steadily,  as  if 
trying  to  remember.  To  the  man,  he  seemed  to  have 
come  back  from  a  far-off  world  of  spirits.  With  a 
mighty  effort,  Hugh  gathered  up  his  strength  and  re- 
called what  he  wanted.  In  a  sinking  voice,  he  asked 
the  man  to  bring  him  his  coat. 

When  the  bloodstained  gray  coat  was  brought,  Hugh 
drew  from  an  inner  breast-pocket  a  cluster  of  withered 
flowers,  and  motioned  to  the  man  to  go.  When  the  at- 
tendant had  reluctantly  departed,  for  he  believed  Major 
Dallas  to  be  dying,  Hugh  placed  in  his  bosom  the  sere 
and  withered  leaves,  all  that  remained  of  the  blossoms 
Madelaine  had  given  him  the  night  they  were  to  have 
been  married.  As  he  pressed  them  to  his  side,  a  faint 
smile  hovered  round  his  lips,  and  a  slight  movement 
passed  through  his  frame.  Once  more,  and  for  the 
last  time,  his  faithful  heart  and  broken  body  thrilled  to 
the  memory  of  that  night. 


XXXV. 

"  The  broken  box  —  a  human  heart, 
The  precious  oil  —  its  chrism  of  pain." 

A  MAX  is  standing  alone  in  a  great  cathedral,  of 
which  the  vaulted  roof  and  dim  aisles  are  being  slowly 
lighted  by  the  rising  sun,  whose  rays  steal  softly  and 
mysteriously  through  a  rose  window  over  the  high  altar. 

The  first  pale  beams  of  day  stream  through  the  yel- 
low panes  of  the  window's  lowest  edge,  touching,  as 
with  celestial  fire,  the  shadowy  aisles  with  their  long 
vistas  of  slender  columns,  delicate  arches,  and  tessellated 
floors.  Slowly  ascending  the  eastern  sky,  the  sun 
gradually  reaches  the  splendid  crimsons  and  violets  of 
tlie  window's  centre,  distilling  gorgeous  color  through 
nave,  transept,  and  choir,  flecking  the  altar  steps  with 
blood-red  stains,  and  pouring  royal  purple  like  wine  on 
the  marble  pavement.  It  throws  a  halo  round  the 
pale,  pain-stricken  countenance  of  the  man  who  stands 
facing  the  sanctuary.  He  is  alone  with  a  great  sor- 
row. Like  the  martyrs  of  old,  he  feels  the  anguish,  but 
is  unconscious  of  the  halo.  His  appearance  proclaims 
him  to  be  a  soldier  who  has  lost  a  leg  in  battle.  He 
has  unbuckled  his  sword  and  laid  it  on  the  altar  steps. 
He  will  never  use  it  again,  and  he  offers  it  as  a  sacri- 
fice. In  his  hands,  he  holds  a  bunch  of  faded  flowers, 
evidently  a  love-token.     This  too,  he  wills  to  offer,  but 


308  JACK  HORNER. 

it  is  a  harder  task.  The  struggle  is  visible  on  his  face 
as  he  raises  it  to  his  quivering  lips.  His  brow  is 
beaded  with  moisture,  and  his  hand  trembles  as  he 
presses  it  to  his  mouth  in  a  long,  mute  caress.  Slowly 
and  painfully  he  kneels  and  lays  it  beside  the  sword, 
Avhile  all  his  wounds  seem  to  bleed  afresh  with  the 
agony  of  this  last  renunciation.  Kneeling  there,  his 
face  buried  in  his  hands,  he  feels  the  solemn  stillness 
begin  to  vibrate  with  the  sound  of  music,  faint  and  far- 
off  at  first,  but  every  moment  coming  nearer.  Eaising 
his  head,  he  sees  a  door  within  the  sanctuary  open,  and 
a  procession  of  white-robed  choristers  throng  into  the 
cathedral.  The  smaller  boys  with  their  sweet  childish 
treble,  like  the  thin  edge  of  a  wedge,  entering  first,  the 
volume  of  sound  increasing  until  the  deep-toned  basses 
bring  in  the  full  diapason.  A  glory  of  color  from  the 
long  lancet  side  windows  blending  with  that  from  above 
the  altar  now  fills  the  church,  bathing  their  young 
faces  with  supernatural  light,  while  their  voices  are 
lifted  in  angelic  song.  Their  words  fall  softly  and  dis- 
tinctly as  dewdrops  on  the  bruised  spirit  of  the  silent 
worshiper. 

"  When  my  last  hour  cometh,"  they  sing,  flocking 
like  a  troop  of  doves  into  the  sanctuary,  and,  mated  in 
pairs,  proceeding  down  the  long  aisle  towards  the  en- 
trance door,  continuing  their  hymn,  soft  and  low  as  a 
lullaby.  It  seems  to  voice  the  very  prayer  the  soldier 
is  striving  to  offer. 

* '  When  my  last  hour  cometh, 

Fraught  with  strife  and  pain, 
When  my  dust  returneth 
To  the  dust  again, 


THE  BROKEN   BOX.  309 

On  thy  strength  relying, 

Through  that  mortal  strife, 
Jesus,  take  me  dying 

To  immortal  life." 

They  have  reached  the  great  entrance  doors,  which  turn 
slowly  on  their  hinges  to  admit  a  coffin  home  by  sol- 
diers, and  preceded  by  a  priest  saying  aloud  in  tones 
that  reach  the  vaulted  roof,  and  are  echoed  back  again  : 
"  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life,"  and  the  sol- 
dier knows  that  he  is  to  assist  at  the  last  office  that 
man  can  render  his  fellow-man.  Whjn  the  coffin  is 
lowered  to  its  resting-place  before  the  altar,  the  soldier 
looks  down  on  the  face  of  the  dead,  which  has  been 
left  exposed,  and  is  startled  to  see  his  own  face.  Like 
a  disembodied  spirit,  he  seems  to  be  present  at  his  own 
obsequies,  regarding  the  lifeless  clay  which  has  so 
lately  been  his  habitation.  The  shock  of  this  discov- 
ery is  presently  softened  by  the  expression  of  the  dead 
face.  The  brow  is  calm,  the  white  eyelids  are  closed 
in  peace,  the  lips  have  settled  into  the  fine  curves  of 
perfect  repose.  The  influence  of  this  tranquillity  steals 
into  his  soul.  He  is  about  to  turn  away,  when  he  hears 
his  name  pronounced,  "  Hugh." 

And  Hugh  Dallas,  who  from  physical  and  spiritual 
exhaustion  had  fallen  asleep,  and  whose  last  waking 
thoughts  had  taken  shape  in  a  vivid  dream,  opens  his 
eyes  and  finds  Madelaine  bending  over  him.  She  had 
called  him  gently  once  or  twice,  and  her  voice  probably 
suggested  in  his  dream  the  choristers'  hymn  which  he 
had  sometimes  heard  her  sing.  Her  blanched,  terrified 
face  showed  that  she  too  had  feared  that  his  spirit  had 
passed  away.     He  could  not  speak  at  first,  but  as  soon 


310  JACK  HORNER. 

as  his  eyes  met  hers,  they  delivered  the  message  of  un- 
changing love  which  he  had  said  would  follow  her  al- 
ways, living  or  dead. 

Dorset's  open  letter  lying  by  his  side  revealed  to  her 
the  suffering  caused  by  her  innocent  mistake.  All  the 
sorrow  which  had  hitherto  clouded  her  life  never  held 
such  anguish  as  when  she  saw  the  change  in  Hugh's 
condition. 

'*  O  Hugh  !  "  she  moaned,  in  utter  misery. 

"  It  is  all  right,"  he  said,  making  a  supreme  effort 
to  comfort  her. 

"  That  letter  !  "  cried  Madelaine,  in  a  wild  burst  of 
grief,  "  that  wretched  letter !  It  ought  never  to  have 
been  written.  The  man  had  no  right  to  write  it  to 
me  !  " 

"  He  could  not  help  it,"  gasped  Hugh,  trying  to 
smile. 

"  It  has  troubled  you.  It  has  made  you  ill,  and  you 
were  so  much  better  !  " 

"  Don't  fret,  darling.  The  end  was  near  from  the 
first,"  brokenly. 

"  And  I  love  you.  I  do  love  you  better  than  I  ever 
loved  any  one  !  " 

His  face  brightened. 

"  And  I  've  been  true  to  you,  true,  true  !  "  she 
sobbed. 

"  I  know." 

"  O  Hugh  !  " 

"  It 's  all  right  —  all  right,"  he  murmured,  closing 
his  eyes. 

His  last  conscious  effort  was  to  comfort  Madelaine. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  while  she  held  his  hand  and 


THE  BROKEN  BOX.  311 

the  setting  sun  was  casting  the  reflection  of  his  grated 
window  on  the  wall,  he  opened  his  eyes.  With  a  brief, 
fleeting  smile  they  rested  for  a  moment  on  the  familiar 
picture,  and  closed  again.  With  a  scarcely  perceptible 
sigh,  he  breathed  his  last. 

Hugh  Dallas  had  escaped  his  prison  bars,  and  Made- 
laine  was  left  alone  with  grief,  —  grief  so  overwhelm- 
ing that  she  was  stunned,  for  while  she  was  conscious 
of  innocence,  her  pangs  of  remorse  were  as  keen  as  her 
sorrow.  She  felt  in  some  sense  responsible  for  Hugh's 
death,  and  yet  she  had  been  faithful  to  him.  She 
realized  now  in  the  fullest  sense  that  when  she  said 
she  loved  him  better  than  she  had  ever  loved  any  one, 
she  had  spoken  truly.  It  is  only  to  a  man  like  Hugh 
that  a  woman  gives  her  best  love.  For  Dorset  she 
had  felt  a  strong  personal  attraction  ;  his  beauty 
moved  her,  his  helplessness  during  a  long  illness  had 
wakened  her  woman's  tenderness.  She  had  been 
swayed  by  all  the  sweet  human  influences  of  com- 
panionship and  youth  in  the  blood.  But  these  tempta- 
tions had  been  the  innermost  secret  of  her  soul.  She 
had  never  surrendered  to  them,  never  betrayed  them. 
Her  promised  allegiance  to  Hugh  she  had  kept  in- 
violate as  she  had  kept  her  faith  in  God,  and  yet  she 
felt  she  must  have  greatly  sinned,  seeing  her  punish- 
ment was  so  great.  Her  involuntary  weakness  had 
helped  to  break  the  noblest  heart  that  ever  beat. 

Her  mind  dwelt  on  this  thought  until  she  was  unable 
to  think  of  anything  else. 

"  Oh,  if  I  had  not  given  him  the  wrong  letter  !  If  I 
had  not  given  "  —  she  went  over  and  over  again. 

Late  in  the  evening  her  friends,  the  Rothwells,  be- 


312  JACK  HORNER. 

coming  uneasy  at  her  prolonged  stay,  came  to  look  for 
her.  They  found  her  sitting  by  Hugh's  bedside,  dazed 
and  distracted,  looking  at  vacancy  with  tearless  eyes. 

The  ladies,  two  gentle  spinsters,  were  greatly  touched 
by  Hugh's  quiet  face  and  Madelaine's  look  of  silent 
despair. 

Lavater  somewhere  says,  "  The  features  of  the  human 
face,  disturbed  in  life  by  the  flux  and  reflux  of  events 
and  passions,  revert  in  death  to  their  original  design 
and  become  infinitely  more  noble  and  beautiful,  as 
muddy  water  works  itself  clear  when  it  is  no  longer 
disturbed." 

So  it  was  with  Hugh. 

"Madelaine  dear,"  whispered  Miss  Roth  well,  her 
eyes  filling  at  the  sight,  "  look  at  him  ;  it  will  comfort 
you." 

It  was  nature's  remedy. 

The  perfect  peace  on  Hugh's  kindly  face  brought  a 
rush  of  tears  to  Madelaine's  dry  eyes,  and  her  aching 
breast  burst  forth  in  sobs. 

The  next  day,  by  order  of  the  hospital  authorities, 
he  was  hurried  to  his  burial.  Only  the  Rothwells  and 
Madelaine  stood  by  when  he  was  lowered  to  a  nameless 
grave.  But  little  he  recked,  for  he  had  died  a  soldier's 
death,  and  was  wept  by  the  woman  he  loved. 

A  few  days  later,  there  was  a  general  exchange  of 
prisoners.  It  came  too  late  for  Hugh  Dallas,  and 
Madelaine,  sad  and  solitary,  returned  alone  to  Rich- 
mond under  a  flag  of  truce. 


XXXVI. 

CELA    VA   SANS    DIRE. 

Spring  has  come  round  again.  A  year  has  passed 
since  Larry  Pritchard  married  Bo  Disney  on  his  death- 
bed. When  his  affairs  were  looked  into,  it  was  dis- 
covered that  he  had  had  the  forethought  to  make 
handsome  provision  for  Bo,  besides  remembering  liis 
nephews  and  nieces  and  even  Jack  for  a  small  legacy 
in  his  will,  this  last  as  an  amend  to  his  sister  for 
his  opposition  to  the  child.  After  Larry's  death,  Mrs. 
Key  came  to  live  permanently  with  Miss  Patty,  who, 
in  addition  to  being  old  and  lonely,  was  not  in  such 
good  health  as  she  had  been.  Larry's  provision  for 
Bo  made  her,  as  times  went,  exceedingly  well  off.  She 
was  a  rich,  young,  pretty  widow.  Everybody  knows 
what  vantage-ground  such  qualifications  give.  Bo,  or 
Mrs.  Lawrence  Pritchard,  was  easily  the  most  admired 
woman  in  society.  To  the  admirers  who  had  always 
appreciated  her  good  looks  were  now  added  the  kind 
who  appreciate  money  and  those  who  do  not  appreciate 
one  without  the  other,  which,  it  is  easy  to  see,  includes 
the  whole  unencumbered  sex.  Bo  loved  admiration ; 
it  was  the  breath  of  her  nostrils ;  but  she  was  a  very 
discreet  young  widow.  She  was  not  particularly  elated 
by  having  money.  She  was  not  proud  of  the  way  she 
acquired  it.     The  thought  was  only  made  palatable  to 


314  JACK  HORNER. 

her  by  reminding  herself  that  she  had  married  poor 
Larry  for  her  mother's  sake.  Her  mother  enjoyed 
the  money,  or  rather  the  comfort  it  brought,  and  Bo 
enjoyed  her  enjoyment.  It  is  the  inevitable  revsult  of 
time  and  habit,  however,  to  dull  one's  sensibilities  to 
mental  as  well  as  material  hair  shirts,  and  Bo  after  a 
time  felt  the  advantages  of  wealth  more  than  the  dis- 
comfort of  the  reflection  as  to  how  she  obtained  it. 
Wealth  had  brought  her  the  power  to  indulge  her  gen- 
erous impulses,  which  to  her  lavish  temperament  was 
even  a  greater  privilege  than  the  power  to  surround  her- 
self with  pretty  things,  to  dress  well  and  to  fare  sump- 
tuously every  day,  all  of  which  Bo  found  very  pleas- 
ant. To  poor  people  who  have  seen  much  of  life,  it  is 
comforting  to  remind  themselves  that  money  cannot 
give  everything.  Bo  used  to  be  incredulous  of  this 
fact.  When  she  was  a  poor  Treasury  clerk  with  a 
disabled  hand,  she  thought  if  she  only  had  money 
she  could  be  perfectly  happy.  But  like  the  rest  of 
the  world,  she  discovered  that  money  cannot  give 
everything,  and  that  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  it  is  the 
one  thing  desired  of  all  others  that  it  cannot,  or  at  least 
does  not,  give. 

Bo  was  not  unreasonable  in  her  requirements.  The 
one  thing  needed  to  make  her  perfectly  happy  was  the 
little  Frenchman,  and  he  kept  out  of  the  way.  St. 
Maur,  who  when  they  were  both  on  the  brink  of  star- 
vation had  asked  her  to  marry  hina,  now  that  she  had 
more  than  enough  for  two,  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
there  was  such  a  thing  as  matrimony.  She  saw  that 
he  was  getting  more  pinched  and  shabby  every  day,  or 
every  time  she  saw  him,  which  was  nothing  like  every 


CELA    VA   SANS  DIRE.  315 

day.  She  knew  that  a  War  clerk's  salary  became 
every  day  less  commensurate  with  the  necessities  of 
life,  yet  he  was  as  gay  and  apparently  as  insouciant  as 
ever.  His  clothes  were  brushed  threadbare,  and  the 
frayed  edges  of  his  linen  collars  and  cuffs  wei'e 
"  shaved,"  as  he  called  it,  until  they  were  fast  disap- 
pearing ;  but  he  looked  the  same  scrupulously  neat, 
dear  little  Frenchman  of  better  days.  He  wore  his 
monocle  and  twirled  his  cane  as  jauntily  as  ever.  He 
seemed  to  enjoy  life  en  gargon  sufficiently  well  not  to 
wish  to  change.  Once,  in  a  moment  of  chivalrous  en- 
thusiasm, he  had  given  Bo  a  chance  to  marry,  and  she 
had  as  chivalrously  declined  ;  now  that  the  moment  of 
enthusiasm  had  passed,  and  Bo,  besides  having  plenty 
of  money,  had  recovered  the  use  of  her  hand,  the  situa- 
tion was  different.     Circumstances  alter  cases. 

He  would  continue,  as  he  had  said,  to  worship  her 
far  off  as  one  worships  the  saints.  He  was  not  a  mar- 
rying man.  But  Bo  was  no  exception  to  the  rule,  she 
was  a  marrying  woman.  Now  that  she  had  plenty,  she 
wanted  to  share  her  abundance  with  the  man  who  had 
been  willing  to  give  her  of  his  penury.  But  she  could 
not  tell  him  so,  that  is,  not  directly,  and  as  yet  she  had 
discovered  no  way  of  imparting  the  information  indi- 
rectly. His  attitude  towards  Mrs.  Lawrence  Pritchard 
was  wholly  unlike  what  it  had  been  to  Bo  Disney. 
She  was  now  madame,  and  as  far  removed  from  him 
as  the  man  in  the  moon.  She  almost  wished  she  had 
taken  him  at  his  word  and  shared  his  crusts  with  him. 
But  then  her  mother  would  have  starved,  and  that 
was  out  of  the  question.     What  was  to  be  done  ? 

The  cause  of  the  Confederacy  was  tottering  to  its 


316  JACK   HORNER. 

close,  but  tlie  women  did  not  know  it,  and  although 
times  were  tightening  every  day,  they  continued  to 
make  bi*ave  efforts  to  keep  up  the  tone  of  things  in 
Richmond.  They  were  the  last  to  say  die.  Bo,  being 
in  mourning,  did  not  go  into  society,  but  she  was  as 
hospitable  as  ever,  and  society  came  to  her.  Every- 
body came  oftener  than  St.  Maur.  In  fact,  he  did  not 
come  at  all.  She  enjoyed  the  comfortable  little  home 
she  had  made  for  her  mother,  her  increased  importance, 
her  pretty  clothes,  her  thousand  and  one  friends,  but 
there  was  always  pain  and  hunger  in  her  heart  for  the 
love  she  seemed  to  have  lost. 

She  had  not  seen  St.  Maur  for  a  long  time,  when  one 
day  she  was  making  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Key.  The  weather 
being  warm,  they  sat  at  an  open  window  behind  lace 
curtains,  through  which,  unseen,  they  could  see,  if  they 
wanted,  the  passers  in  the  street.  Mrs.  Key's  eyes 
were  bent  on  Jack,  who  stood  at  her  knee  turning 
over  the  leaves  of  a  book  on  her  lap.  He  was  nearly 
three  years  old  now,  appreciated  pictures,  and  was  be- 
ginning to  have  a  fling  at  the  alphabet.  Bo,  pretty 
and  piquant  in  soft,  shining  black,  with  a  gleam  of 
white  which  did  duty  for  a  widow's  cap  within  the  rim 
of  her  bonnet,  looked  out  of  the  window.  It  was  about 
three  o'clock,  the  hour  when  the  departments  closed, 
and  the  street  swarmed  with  government  clerks  going 
home  to  their  dinner.  Bo,  having  been  a  government 
clerk  herself,  or  for  some  other  reason,  continued  to 
take  an  interest  in  their  movements. 

Jack,  guided  by  the  pictures  in  his  book,  was  reciting, 
or  what  he  called  "  reading,"  the  story  of  ''  Muvvar 
Hubbard  "  and  had  grot  as  far  as 


CELA    VA   SANS  DIRE.  317 

"  '  When  she  dot  dare  the  dog  was  laughin',' " 
laughing  himself,  showing  all  his  little  pearly  teeth  in 
imitation  of  the  clog,  when  Bo,  her  eyes  still  following 
the  government  clerks,  remarked,  — 

"  That  is  a  clever  child,  Madelaine.  You  and  Miss 
Patty  have  trained  him  well.  His  father  will  be  proud 
of  him  when  he  sees  him." 

Grave,  sad  Madelaine,  graver  and  sadder  than  when 
we  first  met  her,  could  not  escape  a  certain  conscious- 
ness when  any  allusion  was  made  to  Jack's  father, 
whose  secret  had  been  well  kept  between  Miss  Patty, 
Daniel,  and  herself.     She  always  avoided  the  subject. 

"  He  is  a  nice  child,"  she  said,  stroking  Jack's  curls. 

"  I  wonder  if  his  father  will  know  what  to  do  with 
him  when  he  gets  him,"  continued  Bo. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  If  Jack's  mother  is  dead,  his  father  is  a  widower, 
I  suppose  ?  " 

'•  Oh,  yes,"  assented  Madelaine,  trying  to  think  of 
something  else  to  talk  about ;  but  Jack  and  his  father 
drove  out  lighter  topics,  and  Bo  was  too  quick  for 
her. 

"  You  must  know,"  said  the  latter,  "  of  all  people,  I 
pity  widowers  the  most." 

"  More  than  widows.  Bo  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Bo,  who  had  apparently  given  some 
thought  to  the  subject,  probably  because  of  one  or  two 
widowers  among  her  admirers.  ''  They  are  such  a  lop- 
sided set,  as  helpless  and  uncomfortable  as  a  man  with 
one  arm.  I  've  often  wondered  why  the  litany  does 
not  contain  a  petition  for  motherless  children  and  wid- 
owers.    They  are  quite  as  much  to  be  pitied   as  the 


318  JACK  HORNER. 

'  fatherless  children  and  widows.'  Indeed,  it 's  more 
logical  to  pray  for  widowers  than  widows,  because 
woman  was  made  for  man,  not  man  for  woman,  and 
when  a  man  loses  his  wife,  he  loses  what  he  is  entitled 
to,  what  was  made  expressly  for  him.  Then  a  woman 
has  home  and  children  to  look  after  just  as  she  had 
before  her  husband  died,  but  a  man's  home  is  nothing 
without  a  wife.  It  "s  as  dull  and  cheerless  as  a  birdless 
cage." 

Madelaine,  smiling  at  Bo's  volubility,  was  glad  to 
steer  into  generalities. 

"  What  about  bachelors,  Bo  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it 's  different  with  bachelors.  A  man  does  not 
miss  what  he  never  had." 

Madelaine's  reply  was  arrested  by  a  little  start  and 
exclamation  from  Bo,  which  the  latter  tried  to  cover 
with  a  cough,  and  looking  out  of  the  window,  Made- 
laine saw  St.  Maur  passing,  accompanied  by  a  pretty, 
foreign-looking  girl,  who  was  talking  to  him  with  an 
unmistakable  air  of  intimacy. 

"  Do  you  know  who  that  girl  is  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Key, 
ignoring  Bo's  discomposure. 

"  Know  her  ?  "  arranging  her  widow's  veil.  "No,  I 
have  never  even  seen  her  before.  She  looks  as  though 
she  might  be  a  compatriot  of  his." 

"'She  has  passed  herewith  him  every  day  for  the 
past  week  on  his  way  home  from  the  department." 

"  I  have  lost  sight  of  M.  de  St.  Maur  for  some  time. 
I  don't  know  who  his  friends  are  now,"  said  Bo,  her 
heart  beating  violently,  but  speaking  with  admirable 
coolness. 

It  was  impossible,  however,  to  keep  up  a  conversa- 


CELA    VA   SANS  DIRE.  319 

tion  on  indifferent  subjects  long,  and  pretty  soon  Bo 
went  away. 

"  Every  day  for  a  week  !  That  girl,  young,  beauti- 
ful, looking  up  in  his  face  so  confidingly  !  Frenchmen 
are  so  fiendishly  fickle.  Is  this  jealousy  ?  My  God  ! 
this  is  the  worst  pain  yet,"  groaned  poor  Bo,  walking 
home,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  ignoring  her 
acquaintances,  and  hiding  her  face  under  her  crape 
veil.  The  first  impulse  of  a  wounded  creature  is  to 
escape  observation,  and  Bo  wanted  to  get  by  herself. 

Having  once  come  under  her  notice,  it  was  in  the 
nature  of  things  that  Bo  should  hear  of  the  pretty 
stranger  again,  even  if  eyes,  ears,  and  every  sense  had 
not  strained  to  find  out  all  about  her.  The  very  next 
day,  she  overheard  two  young  men  in  a  street-car  talk- 
ing about  a  pretty  Miss  Crozet  from  New  Orleans. 
She  settled  in  her  mind  at  once  that  that  was  the  girl 
who  walked  home  from  the  department  with  St.  Maur 
every  day.  She  was  too  proud  and  too  miserable  to 
ask  questions,  but  here  and  there  she  gleaned  a  little 
about  the  girl  she  hated. 

People  spoke  freely  about  the  girl  who  was  always 
seen  with  St.  Maur,  and  never  anywhere  in  society. 
Her  dark  beauty,  her  foreign  air  and  vivacity  as  seen 
on  the  street,  were  all  the  more  attractive  that  there 
seemed  no  way  of  getting  nearer  to  them. 

But  so  marked  a  personality  could  not  long  remain 
shrouded  in  mystery,  and  there  were  reasons  why  the 
girl  should  come  before  the  public  in  a  modest  way. 
After  agonizing  over  the  matter  for  several  days.  Bo 
learned  all  about  her  rival  in  a  morning  visit.  One  of 
those    charitable    ladies  known    in    every   community. 


320  JACK  HORNER. 

whose  plainness  is  only  equaled  by  their  goodness,  and 
at  whose  approach  one  feels  like  buttoning  up  heart 
and  pocket,  called  to  see  her,  ostensibly  In  a  friendly 
way.  Bo  knew  by  Intuition  that  the  visit  meant  busi- 
ness. Generous  as  she  was,  it  was  impossible  to  keep 
pace  with  the  demands  made  upon  her  since  her  acces- 
sion to  a  modest  fortune.  At  sight  of  her  jiresent  vis- 
itor, Mrs.  Brownrigg,  she  wondered  for  bow  much  she 
was  put  down,  and  for  what.  After  a  not  very  long 
preface  about  the  weather,  the  times,  and  other  im- 
personal things,  the  lady  said  in  a  persuasive  voice,  as 
she  drew  a  package  of  tickets  from  her  reticule,  — 

"  My  dear,  one  of  my  reasons  for  coming  to  see  you 
this  morning  is  to  ask  if  you  would  not  like  to  take  a 
course  of  French  lessons  ?  " 

"  French  lessons  ?  "  echoed  Bo,  to  whom  tbe  words 
brought  up  bittersweet  memories  of  French  lessons  of 
one  kind  and  another  she  had  already  learned.  "  No, 
indeed,  Mrs.  Brownrigg,  accomplishments  are  too  great 
luxuries  for  these  times.  Besides,  I  know  enough 
French  for  all  the  use  I  have  for  It,"  a  little  bitterly. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  it  is  n't  for 
the  sake  of  the  accon)plishment,  for  I  know  how  well 
you  are  provided  with  that  kind  of  thing,  but  to  help 
a  young  girl  who  is  trying  to  earn  a  living  by  teaching 
her  native  Ltnguage." 

All  the  blood  flew  up  in  Bo's  face  at  these  words. 
She  felt  that  here  was  Miss  Crozet  again,  and  she  won- 
dered at  the  malignity  of  fate  that  she  of  all  people 
should  be  appealed  to  in  that  person's  behalf. 

"No,  Mrs.  Brownrigg,"  she  said,  still  more  de- 
cidedly.    "  There  are  so  many  of  our  own  people  I 


CELA    VA   SANS  DIRE.  321 

am  obliged  to  help,  that  I  really  can't  afford  to  take 
French  lessons,  and  I  think  it  a  pity  that  foreigners 
should  come  here  to  make  a  living,  when  Heaven  knows 
there  is  not  enough  bread  for  the  people  who  belong 
here." 

Mrs.  Brownrigg  looked  surprised.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  Mrs.  Pritchard  was  a  little  hard.  Hitherto, 
with  her  charming  grace  of  manner.  Bo  had  always 
been  willing  to  give  at  least  her  attention  and  sym- 
pathy, when  it  was  out  of  her  power  to  respond  more 
substantially  to  an  appeal  to  her  benevolence. 

"  That  is  true,"  assented  the  old  lady.  ''  Times  are 
very  hard,  but  this  poor  girl  can't  help  herself,  and  she 
is  such  a  pretty  young  creature  !  " 

"  Such  a  pretty  young  creature  !  "  How  ugly  and 
odious  old  Mrs.  Brownrigg  looked  to  Bo  as  she  said 
this. 

We  are  told  that  beautiful  are  the  feet  of  them  that 
bring  glad  tidings,  and  there  is  a  corresponding  effect 
on  the  bearer  of  disagreeable  news. 

Bo  could  not  see  Mrs.  Brownrigg's  feet,  but  her  face 
and  poke  bonnet  had  never  appeared  so  hideous  as 
when  she  gave  voice  to  a  fact  that  Bo  was  striving  to 
bury  in  her  own  bosom. 

Bo  looked  as  disagreeable  as  she  felt,  as  she  replied, 
*'  If  I  were  able  to  take  French  lessons,  the  beauty  of 
your  friend  would  make  no  difference.  Indeed,  I  think 
the  plainer  a  person  is,  the  more  she  is  to  be  pitied." 

''So  do  I,"  returned  the  other  good  -  humoredly, 
"  but  you  know  it  is  not  for  myself  I  am  asking." 

Bo  flushed  up  at  this  unconscious  rebuke. 

"  What  is  the  young  lady's  name  ?  "  she  asked,  sud- 


322  JACK  HORNER. 

denly  remembering  that  she  was  acting  on  a  bare  sup- 
position. 

"  Crozet." 

"  Ah,  I  thought  so,  and  has  she  no  friends  ?  " 

"  Yes,  one  friend,"  —  Bo  clenched  her  teeth,  —  "  but 
he  is  as  badly  off  as  herself.  She  has  a  half-brother 
here  in  one  of  the  departments,  a  M.  de  St.  Maur,  who 
makes  barely  enough  to  keep  body  and  soul  together." 

"  M.  de  St.  Maur  ?  a  half-brother  ?  "  gasped  Bo,  in 
whose  mind  this  statement  made  an  upheaval  as 
sudden,  as  complete,  as  wild  and  emotional  as  any 
French  revolution.  She  could  scarcely  hear  herself 
speak  for  the  drumming,  singing,  huzzaing,  going  on  in 
her  heart  and  ears. 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Brownrigg,  who 
knew  nothing  of  Bo's  affair  of  the  heart,  and  luckily 
could  not  see  her  inward  tempest  of  emotion. 

The  matter-of-fact  question  brought  Bo  somewhat  to 
her  senses.  '*  Know  him  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  I  used 
to  know  him,  a  good-looking  little  fellow  in  the  War 
Department.  But  I  did  not  know  he  had  a  half-sister," 
wondering  that  in  the  old  times  he  had  never  told 
her  about  his  sister. 

"  Oh,  she  has  just  come  to  Richmond.  I  think  her 
mother,  who  in  a  second  marriage  made  a  mesalliance 
and  lived  in  New  Orleans,  has  recently  died  and  left 
the  poor  girl  without  money  and  without  friends  ex- 
cept this  half-brother.  I  doubt  if  he  ever  saw  her  be- 
fore. I  became  interested  in  her  tlirough  a  sister  of 
charity  from  New  Orleans,  who  has  been  helping  to 
nurse  one  of  my  sons,  who,  you  may  remember,  was 
badly  wounded  at  the  battle  of  the  Wilderness." 


CELA    VA  SANS  DIRE.  323 

"  What  did  you  say  her  terms  are  ?  " 

"  The  equivalent  of  ten  dollars  in  gold  for  the 
course." 

"  After  all,  I  can  give  up  something  to  help  her," 
said  Bo.  "  I  will  take  a  ticket,  Mrs.  Brownrigg,  and 
if  you  are  willing,  I  wiU  try  and  dispose  of  others." 

"  Willing  ?  My  dear  child,  I  am  only  too  de- 
lighted." 

"  Then  suppose  you  give  me  half  of  what  you  have 
there." 

"  I  am  as  much  obliged  to  you,  Mrs.  Pritchard,  as  if 
it  were  for  myself." 

"  And  I,"  said  Bo,  "  am  as  much  obliged  to  you  for 
letting  me  know  about  Miss  Crozet  as  if  it  were  for 
wyself.  You  have  made  me  very  happy,  Mrs.  Brown- 
rigg," pressing  the  old  lady's  hand,  and  thinking  the 
benevolent  expression  of  her  face  made  her  almost 
beautiful  in  spite  of  wrinkles  and  a  poke  bonnet,  "  in 
giving  me  an  opportunity  to  help  her." 

Mrs.  Brownrigg  did  not  understand  this  sudden 
change  of  front,  nor  did  she  stop  to  consider  it.  She 
was  too  much  pleased  at  the  success  of  her  mission  to 
waste  time  in  speculating  as  to  why  and  wherefore. 
It  was  not  the  first  time  that  a  young  woman  had 
changed  her  mind  between  two  breaths,  nor  would  it  be 
the  last.  When  she  was  gone,  Bo,  utterly  regardless 
of  bombazine  and  crape,  caught  up  a  sofa  cushion  and 
waltzed  with  it  round  the  room,  and  then  sat  down  to 
the  piano  and  fired  off  the  Marseillaise.  No  other 
music  could  keep  time  with  the  bravuras  of  her  re- 
lieved and  jubilant  heart. 

The  French  course  became  a  brilliant  success.     Mrs. 


824  JACK  HORNER. 

Pritchard  disposed  of  her  tickets  so  easily  that  it  was 
not  long  before  she  applied  to  Mrs.  Brownrigg,  who 
was  not  so  successful,  for  the  remainder.  Miss  Crozet 
and  her  brother  were  astonished  at  her  good  fortune. 
It  seemed  incredible  that  so  many  young  women  were 
able  to  indulge  in  French  lessons  at  a  time  of  such  gen- 
eral depression.  The  equivalent  of  ten  dollars  in  gold 
seemed  a  mine  to  most  persons.  Mrs.  Pritchard  did 
not  attend  the  course,  but  all  her  friends  did,  and  the 
heart  of  the  pretty  young  creature  from  New  Orleans 
was  relieved  of  part  of  its  sorrows. 

The  day  of  reckoning  came.     It  was  on  this  wise. 

One  morning,  St.  Maur,  crossing  the  lobby  of  the 
War  Office,  encountered  two  gentlemen,  old  cronies,  who 
had  met  there  and  stopped  to  exchange  salutations  and 
commiserate  each  other  on  the  sad  times.  One  of 
them  hailed  him  as  he  was  making  his  way  out  of  the 
building. 

"  St.  Maur,  I  'm  glad  to  see  you.  I  want  to  tell  you 
how  much  pleased  my  daughter  is  with  your  sister, 
Miss  Crozet,  as  a  teacher.  My  girl  says  it  is  the 
greatest  privilege  to  attend  her  class,  the  pleasantest 
episode  of  the  day." 

"  So  does  mine,"  added  the  other,  seeing  the  gen- 
uine pleasure  in  St.  Maur's  countenance  ;  "  a  privilege 
for  which  she  can  never  be  too  grateful  to  Mrs.  Prit- 
chard." 

The  first  speaker,  who  seemed  to  have  been  better  in- 
structed by  his  daughter,  made  a  movement  to  forestall 
this  confidence,  but  the  words  were  out  past  recall. 

"Mrs.  Pritchard  I  "  stammered  St.  Maur.  "  Ah,  I 
see.     You   are  very  good.     I  am  so  glad   my  sister 


CELA    VA   SANS  DIRE.  325 

gives  satisfaction.  I  shall  have  great  pleasure  to  tell 
her,"  with  his  inimitable  bow.  Then  with  polite  in- 
quiries as  to  the  health  of  the  cronies'  respective  fam- 
ilies, he  made  his  adieux. 

With  a  word,  the  mystery  was  solved.  This  was  the 
meaning  of  Mimi's  unprecedented  success.  This  was 
why  so  many  penniless  girls  were  able  to  pay  the 
equivalent  of  ten  dollars  in  gold  for  French  lessons, 
when  they  were  wearing  homespun  and  living  on  salt 
meat  and  black  beans.  Mrs.  Pritchard  had  bought  up 
most  of  the  tickets,  probably  all,  and  given  them  to  her 
friends.  St.  Maur's  quick  eye  had  even  detected  the 
first  speaker's  annoyance  at  his  companion's  frankness. 
Doubtless  Mrs.  Pritchard  had  tried  to  keep  the  matter 
a  secret.  That  was  probably  the  reason  why  she  had 
not  joined  the  class  herself.  But  there  are  men  who 
are  incapable  of  understanding  or  keeping  a  woman's 
small  secrets,  and  the  chances  are  that  they  will  blurt 
them  out  at  the  wrong  time  and  place.  It  had  hap- 
pened so  on  this  occasion. 

That  evening  about  twilight,  Mrs.  Pritchard's  ser- 
vant, believing  her  mistress  to  be  in,  admitted  a  visitor 
to  the  parlor.  While  she  was  gone  in  search  of  the 
lady.  Bo,  who  had  been  out,  let  herself  into  the  house 
with  a  latchkey. 

Peeping  into  the  parlor  to  see  if  the  lamps  were  lit, 
and  finding  it  dark  and  apparently  empty,  she  was 
proceeding  on  her  way  upstairs,  when  her  steps  were 
arrested  and  her  heart  stood  still  as  she  heard  her 
name  pronounced. 
"  Mrs.  Pritchard." 
The  old  familiar  voice,  so  long  unheard,  its  sweet, 


326  JACK  HORNER. 

deferential  intonation,  its  delicate  accent,  so  stirred  Bo 
that  she  could  only  falter,  — 

"  M.  de  St.  Maur  !  " 

She  was  so  moved  that  she  never  knew  how  they 
found  themselves  in  the  parlor  together. 

Standing  before  Bo  in  the  dusky  room,  with  only- 
light  enough  to  see  the  outline  of  her  face,  the  white 
gleam  of  her  widow's  cap,  and  the  soft  lustre  of  her 
eyes,  St.  Maur  repeated,  — 

"  Mrs.  Pritchard." 

The  tone  was  so  grave  that  Bo  asked  timidly,  — 

"  Are  you  displeased  with  me  ?  " 

Something  in  St.  Maur's  throat  prevented  his  speak- 
ing. A  sudden  dimness  in  his  eyes  banished  Mrs. 
Pritchard  and  her  widow's  cap.  Only  Bo,  the  dear 
little  loving  girl,  stood  there,  asking  if  he  was  displeased 
with  her.  There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then 
he  answered  deliberately,  although  he  knew  he  was 
not  telling  the  truth,  — 

"  Yes,  I  am  displeased  with  you." 

"  What  have  I  done  ?  Won't  you  sit  down  and  tell 
me?  " 

''  You  have  been  depriving  yourself  to  help  my  sister 
—  and  me." 

"  Oh  I  "  gasped  Bo,  who  had  been  at  great  pains  to 
cover  up  her  tracks.  "I  —  I  have  tried  to  help  your 
sister  a  little,  but  I  have  not  deprived  myself  of  any- 
thing," she  stammered,  doing  some  prevarication  on  her 
own  account.  "  It  has  been  the  greatest  pleasure," 
which  was  absolutely  true. 

"•  You  do  not  know  how  I  felt  when  I  discovered  it 
to-day  for  the  first  time." 


CELA    VA   SANS  DIRE.  327 

Did  you  think  I  had  taken  a 

liberty  ?  " 

"  I  was  distressed  that  my  sister  owed  to  charity 
what  we  believed  was  remuneration  for  work." 

*'  Charity  ?  From  me  ?  How  can  you  speak  so  ?  " 
winking  back  some  tears  at  his  severity. 

"  You  have  put  me  under  obligations  I  can  never 
repay,  but  I  wish  to  acknowledge  them." 

"  Oh,  don't,  don't !  " 

"  I  have  come  to  thank  you  for  your  generosity  and 
delicate  consideration  in  helping  my  sister." 

"  And  now  that  you  have  done  it,  won't  you  please 
not  say  anything  more  about  it  ?  " 

"  It  's  a  poor  return  for  your  goodness,  but  it  is  all 
I  can  do.      Why  may  I  not  thank  you  ?  " 

"  Because  it  seems  not  exactly  honest  to  be  getting 
so  much  thanks  for  what  has  given  me  more  happiness 
than  anything  since  —  since  —  a  long  time." 

Again  something  took  St.  Maur  by  the  throat,  and 
he  could  not  speak  for  a  moment. 

"  And  you  did  not  deprive  yourself  of  anything  ?  " 

"  Only  a  superfluity.  I  had  been  putting  by  some 
money  to  buy  a  black  silk  dress,  which  you  know  costs 
about  a  hundred  dollars  a  yard  now.  It  seems  provi- 
dential, because  I  had  so  much  rather  have  taken  your 
sister's  tickets." 

"  And  now  you  will  not  have  the  black  silk  dress." 

"  No.  and  I  am  glad,  for  I  do  not  want  any  more 
black  dresses,"  blushing  in  the  dark  at  her  own  in- 
genuousness. 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  how  many  of  my 
sister's  tickets  you  took  ?  " 


328  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Not  so  many,  after  all." 

"  But  how  many  ?  " 

"  Well,  at  one  time  I  took  half." 

«  And  then  ?  " 

"  The  —  the  other  half." 

"  Two  halves  make  the  whole.  And  did  nohody  want 
to  take  French  lessons  ?  " 

"  Yes,  EveryhoAj.  Indeed,  that  is  true.  But  you 
know  how  it  is  now,  ?iobody  could  afford  it." 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  ought  to  get  a  great  deal  of 
French  for  all  those  tickets,"  trying  to  speak  lightly 
and  succeeding  in  speaking  bitterly. 

"  No  more  than  I  want,"  breathed  Bo  softly. 

The  soft  breath  fanned  fire  into  flame. 

"  Mrs.  Pritchard,  do  you  know  what  you  are  tempt- 
ing me  to  do  ?  "  cried  St.  Maur  fiercely. 

"  Nothing  wrong,  am  I  ?  " 

"  Something  I  have  sworn  not  to  do." 

"  Ah,  what  can  that  be  ?  "  in  a  frightened  whisper. 

"  To  ask  a  woman  with  money  to  marry  a  pauper." 

"  I  don't  see  the  good  of  money  unless  it  makes 
people  happy,"  whimpered  Bo. 

"  Boadicea !  " 

Bo  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  trembling.  Her 
name  on  his  lips  was  like  a  bow  drawn  across  the 
strings  of  a  violin.  She  quivered  from  head  to  foot. 
It  was  some  seconds  before  she  found  her  voice,  and 
then  she  ventured  for  the  first  time  to  call  him,  — 

"  Henri ! " 

Her  low,  tremulous  tone  was  trumpet- ton gued  to 
St.  Maur.  It  stirred  every  drop  of^  his  Gallic  blood. 
It  made  him  false  to  his  oath.     He  seized  her  hands 


CELA    VA   SANS  DIRE.  329 

and  drew  her  to  himself,  he  encircled  her  in  his  arms 
and  pressed  his  lips  on  hers. 

"  Cherie,  you  make  me  forswear  myself.  I  swore 
I  would  not  ask  you  to  marry  me  because  I  have 
nothing  to  offer  you  but  the  love  of  a  pauper." 

"  It  is  very  wrong  to  swear,"  said  Bo,  reduced  to 
platitudes. 

"  Will  you  marry  nie,  Boadicea  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer.  Her  heart  was  too  full  for 
words.  Her  bonnet  strings  seemed  to  choke  her  ;  she 
untied  them,  and  laid  the  bonnet  with  its  widow's  cap 
on  a  chair  beside  her. 

"  Will  you  marry  me  ? "  he  repeated,  anxious  in 
his  turn.  "  Why  do  you  not  speak  ?  Saij  something, 
dearest." 

"Oh,  Henri,  it  —  it  goes  without  saying,"  she  cried 
with  a  radiant  blush,  which  he  could  not  see  but  di- 
vined. 


XXXVII. 

CRUCIFIXION   OF   THE   SOUL. 

Sprixg  dawned  once  more,  and  for  the  last  time,  on 
Richmond  as  the  capital  of  the  Confederacy.  April, 
with  her  changeful  face,  barely  peeped  in  on  the 
doomed  city,  and  the  second  day  it  fell.  The  second  of 
the  month  happened  to  be  Sunday,  and  it  came  in  with 
its  traditional  quiet  peacefulness.  The  equally  tra- 
ditional beauty  and  uncertainty  of  the  season  were  not 
wanting.  The  city  was  enveloped  in  a  soft  haze,  al- 
ternating in  sunshine  and  showers.  When  morning 
broke,  the  citizens  did  not  dream  that  it  was  for  the 
last  time  ;  that  as  a  people  they  should  never  know  an- 
other quiet  Sunday  or  another  fitful  Api'il  day. 

Miss  Patty  Pritchard,  whose  heart  was  bound  up  in 
the  cause  of  the  Confederacy,  had  of  late  been  ill  and 
feeble,  but  she  still  knitted  stockings  for  "  the  boys,"  and 
looked  forward  to  peace,  with  success  on  the  Southern 
side.  As  life  advances,  hope's  outposts  are  moved 
farther  on.  "  Dupe  of  to-morrow  even  from  a  child,"  as 
poor  Cowper  sang,  Miss  Patty  in  her  youth  built  hap- 
piness on  a  fii'st  love,  which  faded  while  it  was  yet 
morning.  One  by  one  her  ideals  failed,  and  her  loving 
heart  still  stretched  out  for  objects  of  tenderness. 
Jack's  parentage  had  been  a  desolating  blow,  but  with 
the  courage  of  a  strong  nature  she  had  rallied  from  the 


CRUCIFIXION  OF  THE  SOUL.  331 

disappointment  to  centre  all  her  affection,  ambition, 
and  enthusiasm  in  the  Southern  cause.  So  long  as  the 
Stars  and  Bars  floated  above  her,  there  was  something 
to  live  for,  or  if  need  be  to  die  for.  The  last  passion 
enshrined  in  her  heart  was  the  fire  of  patriotism. 
Men  talk  of  first  love.  What  are  its  melodramas 
and  comedies  to  the  tragedy  of  a  last  love,  which  ends 
in  disappointment,  with  death  for  the  last  act  ? 

Miss  Patty  was  not  able  to  go  to  church  that  April 
Sunday  morning,  and  Madelaine  remained  at  home  with 
her. 

The  early  part  of  the  day  for  them  passed  in  its 
usual  quietude.  The  old  lady  sat  propped  up  in  bed 
with  her  Bible  before  her.  The  windows  of  her  room 
were  open,  and  she  inhaled  the  sweet  April  air  with  the 
indefinable  sense  of  revival  that  comes  even  to  the 
aged  in  springtime,  while  eyes  and  ears  were  glad- 
dened by  the  tender  green  of  elms  in  front  of  the 
house  and  the  twitter  of  birds  amid  the  foliage.  "When 
the  last  stroke  of  church-bells  had  floated  away  into 
silence,  and  a  hushed  Sabbath  stillness  had  settled  on 
the  town,  Miss  Patty  dropped  off  into  a  doze,  and 
dreamed  that  she  was  young,  and  mankind  at  peace. 
Long  before  the  usual  hour  for  the  close  of  church  ser- 
vices and  the  quiet  stir  of  home  -  returning  congrega- 
tions, Mrs.  Key,  reading  in  her  aunt's  room,  was 
startled  by  a  great  commotion  in  the  street.  She  rose 
and  closed  the  window,  lest  the  noise  should  waken 
Miss  Patty. 

Madelaine  was  accustomed  to  commotions  in  the 
street.  The  populace  never  failed  to  respond  vocif- 
erously  to  war  news.      She   thought   she  understood 


332  JACK  HORNER. 

the  whole  gamut  of  popular  expression,  —  joyous  accla- 
mations of  victory,  stifled  murmurs  of  apprehension, 
sullen  thunders  of  disaster  and  defeat.  These  great 
demonstrations  of  common  feeling  in  a  common  cause 
always  agitated  her  intensely  with  hope  or  fear.  Her 
heart  joined  in  the  loud  huzzas  of  the  multitude  in  its 
joy,  and  cried  "  Woe  is  me  "  in  its  sorrow.  But  there 
was  a  note,  a  quality,  a  something  unusual  in  the  pres- 
ent disturbance  that  struck  a  chill  to  her  soul.  It  Avas 
no  longer  a  common  feeling  in  a  common  cause,  but 
the  angry  clamor  of  a  rabble,  mingled  with  wild  shouts 
of  triumph  and  savage  laughter.  Suddenly  the  street 
in  front  of  the  house  was  filled  with  people,  as  if  all 
the  congregations  in  town  had  been  dismissed  simul- 
taneously, men  and  women  hurrying  frantically  as  if 
fleeing  from  some  terrible  impending  fate.  Mrs  Key, 
alone  in  the  house  with  her  aunt,  did  not  dare  to  speak 
for  fear  of  disturbing  the  latter,  from  whom  it  was 
necessary  to  keep  all  agitation.  Whatever  danger 
threatened,  she  could  not  desert  her  post.  By  and  by 
a  movement  downstairs  indicated  that  one  or  more  of 
the  servants  had  returned  from  church.  Madelaine, 
trembling  in  every  limb,  stole  down  to  the  kitchen,  to 
see  if  she  could  find  out  from  them  the  cause  of  the 
tumult. 

Only  Afra  was  there.  That  is,  to  Madelaine's  dazed 
sight  it  seemed  to  be  Afra,  and  yet  not  Afra.  Some 
influence  had  so  changed  the  woman  that  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  recognize  her  but  for  her  being 
in  the  Pritchard  kitchen.  The  jolly,  good  -  humored 
cook  was  like  a  creature  possessed.  In  an  ecstasy  of 
emotion  she  wept,  laughed,  and  praised  God  by  turns. 


CRUCIFIXION  OF  THE  SOUL.  333 

Afra,  on  occasions,  had  been  known  to  get  intoxieated. 
Madelaine  feared  this  was  the  case  now. 

"  Afra,"  she  said  sternly,  "  what  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?     Are  you  "  — 

The  woman  understood. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Madlin,"  she  cried,  clapping  her  hands 
and  swaying  from  side  to  side,  "  I  'se  drunk.  Glory  be 
to  God,  I  'se  drunk  wid  liberty." 

''  For  God's  sake,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  dat  General  Lee  's  done  give  up  Richmon', 
an'  is  retreatin',  dat  de  Yankees  is  a-comin',  an'  befo' 
to-morrer's  sun  goes  down  every  nigger  in  dis  Ian'  "11 
be  free,  free,  yes,  my  God,  free  !  "  shouted  Afra. 

Madelaine's  brain  reeled,  and  everything  turned 
black  before  her.  The  woman  raved,  but  her  ravings 
carried  conviction  to  her  hearer.  Grasping  a  table 
to  steady  herself,  Madelaine  said,  as  calmly  as  she 
could, — 

"  Afra,  don't  make  such  a  noise.  I  want  to  break 
this  to  Aunt  Patty  as  gently  as  I  can.  Ask  Daniel  and 
the  others  when  they  come  in  not  to  make  a  noise." 

Afra,  overcome  with  emotion,  sank  into  a  chair,  al- 
ternately wiping  floods  of  tears  from  her  eyes  and 
hugging  herself  as  she  sobbed,  — 

"  Yes,  I  mus'  hug  dis  nigger  'cos  she  's  free.  She 
never  been  free  befo'.  But  she  free  now,  glory  be  to 
God." 

"  Afra,  do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Madlin,  I  onderstan',  I  ain't  gwine  to 
make  no  mo  noise.  I  'se  jest  wor'd  out  wid  joy," 
throwing  herself  back  in  a  chair,  limp  and  maudlin 
from  the  reaction  of  her  excitement. 


334  JACK  HORNER. 

In  the  big,  old-fashioned  kitchen,  in  which  Afra 
had  cooked  so  many  tempting  meals,  now  shining  with 
Sunday  brightness  and  redolent  with  savory  odors  of 
soup  for  dinner,  hung  a  long  row  of  bells  connected 
with  different  parts  of  the  house.  A  sharp  peal  from 
one  of  these  suddenly  started  the  already  overwrought 
nerves  of  mistress  and  servant.  Afra,  with  an  hys- 
terical scream,  started  to  her  feet  to  answer  the  sum- 
mons at  the  front  door, 

Mrs.  Key,  outwardly  calm,  and  pale  and  cold  as 
death,  forbade  her  moving. 

"  Stay  where  you  are,  Afra.  You  are  not  fit  to  go. 
I  will  open  the  door." 

She  left  the  woman  hugging  herself,  weeping  and 
crooning  over  her  new-found  freedom. 

As  Madelaine  dragged  herself  upstairs,  she  felt  even 
in  that  first  moment  that  all  of  life  had  changed.  The 
blow  was  greater  then  than  at  any  other  time.  Af- 
terwards, she  met  and  struggled  with  new  conditions 
step  by  step.  Now,  she  dimly  recognized  the  awful 
change  in  its  entirety,  vast,  vague,  and  all  the  more 
terrible  for  its  indefiniteness.  She  could  not  think, 
fortunately  ;  she  was  so  stunned,  she  could  not  even  feel 
acutely.  She  was  oppressed,  stifled,  like  one  strug- 
gling with  a  horrible  nightmare.  The  sharper  agonies 
came  afterwards. 

At  the  front  door,  she  met  Bo,  since  several  months 
INIadame  de  St.  Maur,  and  her  motlier,  Mrs.  Disney. 
Behind  them,  in  the  street,  she  saw  a  wildly  excited 
mob. 

Bo  and  her  mother  had  only  to  look  at  Madelaine's 
face  to  know  that  she  had  heard. 


CRUCIFIXION  OF  THE  SOUL.  335 

"  You  know  ?  "  said  Bo,  whose  eyes  were  red  with 
weeping. 

"  I  know." 

"  We  came  to  tell  you.  Word  was  sent  to  the  Presi- 
dent at  church." 

"  It  is  worse  than  death,"  said  Mrs.  Disney,  who, 
scarcely  able  to  stand,  was  supported  by  her  daughter. 

"  Yes,"  said  Madelaine,  leading  the  way  into  the 
parlor.  "  But  is  there  no  hope  ?  Where  is  M.  de  St. 
Maur  ?  What  does  he  say  ?  I  've  seen  nobody  but 
the  cook." 

"  Henri,"  answered  Bo,  her  tears  welling  up  afresh 
at  mention  of  his  name,  "  has  no  hope.  He  is  with  his 
chief  at  the  War  Department,  gathering  up  and  destroy- 
ing papers.  He  bade  me  good-by,"  sobbing.  "  I  don't 
know  when  I  shall  see  him  again." 

"  Don't,  don't  cry,"  pleaded  Madelaine.  "  It  is  not 
good  for  you,  and  it  unnerves  me,  and  you  know  I  have 
to  prepare  Aunt  Patty." 

"  O  Madelaine !  "  cried  Bo,  throwing  herself  into 
Mrs.  Key's  arms  and  burying  her  face  on  her  friend's 
shoulder.  "  You  are  so  strong.  I  came  to  you  for 
comfort." 

"  There  is  no  comfort,  darling.  We  have  only  to 
endure.  Do  that  for  your  Henri's  sake,  and  for  the 
sake  of  —  everybody,"  caressing  the  little  woman,  who 
felt  more  keenly  than  anything  the  uncertainty  of  her 
husband's  fate,  and  wanted  to  be  comforted. 

"  I  was  not  always  like  this,"  said  Bo,  with  quiver- 
ing lips,  trying  to  endure.  "  I  used  to  think  the  Yan- 
kees could  never  make  me  shed  tears,  but  now  "  — 
breaking  down. 


336  JACK  HORNER. 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  soothed  Madelalne. 

"  And  Miss  Patty  does  not  know  ? "  said  Mrs. 
Disney  calmly,  looking  very  pale  and  proud  as  she  sat 
upright  in  her  chair,  her  physical  weakness  equaled 
by  her  courage  to  accept  the  situation  without  com- 
plaint. 

"  No,  and  I  am  afraid  it  will  kill  her." 

"  This  is  not  a  time  to  fear  death,"  said  Mrs.  Disney, 
rising  to  go. 

These  friends  wrung  each  other's  hands  in  parting, 
but  nothing  more  was  said.  Words  could  express  noth- 
ing adequate.  We  place  our  hands  on  our  mouths 
and  keep  silence  in  the  presence  of  one  dead  friend. 
Here  hope  itself  was  dead.  Bo  raised  her  lips  to 
Madelaine's  in  dumb  despair,  and  Madelaine,  with  a 
breaking  heart,  returned  the  mute  caress.  Mrs.  Dis- 
ney, with  set,  white  face,  more  pathetic  than  tears, 
bade  Mrs.  Key  good -morning  with  the  punctilious 
politeness  of  yesterday,  as  if  since  yesterday  a  nation 
had  not  been  lost  to  the  world. 

At  the  front  door.  Bo  and  her  mother  met  Jack  com- 
ing in  with  his  nurse,  the  latter  looking  as  dismayed 
and  frantic  as  everybody  else.  Jack,  excited  by  the 
commotion,  was  in  the  gayest  spirits,  whirling  a  toy 
watchman's  rattle. 

At  sight  of  the  child.  Bo's  eyes  filled  again. 

"  Dear  baby  !  "  she  cried,  embracing  him  with  new- 
born maternal  tenderness  and  showering  kisses  on  his 
soft  cheeks.  "  Oil,  mamma,  what  is  to  become  of  all 
the  dear  babies  ?  " 

Jack  wriggled  out  of  her  arms. 

"  I  ain't  a  baby  !  "  highly  insulted.      "  I  'm  a  hoy  !  " 


CRUCIFIXION  OF  THE  SOUL.  337 

he  cried,  darting  into  the  house  in  search  of  Aunt 
Maddie. 

Madelaine,  too,  caught  him  in  her  arms  and  pressed 
him  to  her  bosom  with  a  long,  trembhng  kiss.  It 
rushed  over  her  that,  if  the  war  had  really  come  to  an 
end  with  the  defeat  of  the  South,  Jack's  fortunes  were 
with  the  conquerors.  Here  was  another  drop  in  \x&s 
overflowuig  cup  of  sorrow.  The  child's  beautiful, 
bright  face,  so  long  her  chief  delight,  became  a  source 
of  keenest  pain. 

Jack  felt  that  something  was  wrong.  He  looked 
wistfully  in  her  grave  face.  He  measured  her  griefs 
by  his  own. 

"  Is  you  hungry  ?     I  'se  hungry  too." 

Madelaine  laughed  and  cried.  The  Httle  fellow  un- 
consciously struck  two  chords  at  once. 

There  was  still  Miss  Patty  to  help  through  the  last 
great  disappointment  of  life.  Madelaine  prayed  for 
strength,  for  tenderness,  for  right  words  with  which  to 
comfort  the  gentle  heart  she  feared  would  break  under 
the  blow. 

She  opened  the  door  of  her  aunt's  room  softly,  hop- 
ing to  find  the  old  lady  still  asleep.  Flesh  and  blood 
yearned  to  put  ofif  the  evil  hour  as  long  as  possible. 
But  Miss  Patty  was  awake  and  apparently  refreshed. 

She  greeted  her  niece  at  once  with,  "  Tliere  seems 
to  be  a  great  noise  in  the  street.  Is  anything  the  mat- 
ter ?  Has  there  been  another  battle  ?  Or  is  it  only 
the  usual  Sunday  rumors  ?  " 

"  Sunday  rumors,  aunt.  Would  you  hke  something 
to  eat  now  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you.     What  are  the  rumors  to-day  ?  " 


338  JACK  HORNER. 

"  Something  more  serious  than  usual." 

"  I  hope  it  has  as  little  foundation  as  usual,"  cheer- 
fully. 

"  I  pray  so." 

"  You  look  very  grave,  dear.  Do  you  think  there 
is  really  anything  serious  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I  think  so." 

"  Then  tell  me.     Don't  leave  me  in  suspense." 

"  Tidings  have  come  from  General  Lee's  army  that 
if  his  line  is  not  reformed  at  once  there  will  be  trouble." 

"  Trouble  ?  "  repeated  Miss  Patty.  Then,  covering 
her  eyes  with  her  hands  she  remained  silent  for  a  time, 
in  which  Madelaine  did  not  doubt  that  she  prayed  that 
General  Lee's  line  might  be  reformed. 

After  a  while,  she  looked  up.  Her  face  was  very 
pale,  but  she  spoke  calmly.  "  Now,  as  at  all  times,  we 
are  in  God's  hands  ;  we  will  still  trust  in  Him."  She 
was  anxious,  but  far  from  suspecting  the  worst. 

Madelaine  spent  the  afternoon  trying  cautiously  and 
lovingly  to  prepare  her  mind  for  the  whole  truth. 

Fortunately  the  uproar  in  the  street  gradually  sub- 
sided. Darkness  and  silence,  but  not  rest  or  slumber, 
settled  on  the  town.  Only  God  knew  the  anguish  of 
that  night's  vigils.  Miss  Patty  was  one  of  the  few  who 
slept  without  knowing  what  was  coming  in  the  morn- 
ing. Madelaine's  care  saved  her  the  long  agony  of  ex- 
pectation. But  morning  came,  and  with  it,  "  crucifix- 
ion of  the  soul."  With  the  first  gi'ay  light  of  dawn, 
suddenly  and  without  a  moment's  warning,  the  town 
was  shaken  to  its  foundation  by  an  appalling  explosion 
that  curdled  men's  blood.  Every  lionse  trembled,  as 
if  with  the  shock  of  an  earthquake. 


CRUCIFIXION  OF  THE  SOUL.  339 

Madelaine,  shivering  with  tei'ror,  was  at  her  aunt's 
bedside  in  a  moment.  There  was  one  who  needed 
comfort  even  more  than  herself. 

"  What  is  it,  Madelaine  ?  "  cried  Miss  Patty,  peering 
through  the  dim  light  into  her  niece's  face  with  horror- 
stricken  eyes. 

"  I  don't  know,  aunt,"  kneeling  by  the  bed  and  put- 
ting her  strong,  young  arms  round  the  frail,  trembling 
old  woman.  "  But  I  am  with  you.  Nobody  can  take 
me  from  you ;  we  will  die,  if  need  be,  together." 

At  short  intervals,  the  explosions,  loud  as  a  hundred 
peals  of  thunder,  were  repeated.  Madelaine  felt  the 
floor  tremble  beneath  her,  while  the  glass  in  windows 
and  mirrors  shivered  and  broke  into  atoms.  In  addi- 
tion, the  room  was  presently  lighted  with  the  glare  of 
a  great  fire,  whose  flames  reddened  the  sky  as  with 
blood.  Imagination  has  never  pictured  the  day  of 
doom  with  greater  horrors.  Many  believed  it  was  the 
day  of  doom. 

As  the  day  advanced  and  Miss  Patty  learned  that 
the  fire  and  explosions  at  the  arsenal  were  the  result 
of  accident,  and  not  the  coming  of  the  enemy,  she  took 
heart.     Hope  was  hard  to  kill. 

'•  Madelaine,  do  you  think  they  will  occupy  Rich- 
mond ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  so,  dearest." 

All  day,  while  Federal  troops  were  pouring  into  the 
lower  part  of  the  town,  Miss  Patty  was  hoping  that 
General  Lee  would  still  be  able  to  defend  it.  All  day, 
Mrs.  Key  answered  her  questions  as  best  she  could. 

"  Madelaine,  Is  there  no  hope  in  the  west  ?  " 

"  Nobody  can  tell  me,  dear  aunt." 


340  JACK  HORNER. 

"  No  hope  in  the  south  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

Once,  in  an  mterval  between  the  explosions,  a  hand 
of  music  was  heard. 

Miss  Patty  started  up  in  bed  with  a  heart-broken 
cry,— 

"  Madelaine,  they  have  come !  " 

The  band  was  playing  "  The  Star  Spangled  Ban- 
ner." 


XXXVIII. 

JACK   HORNER. 

In  the  stoiy  of  Picciola,  a  little  flower,  springing  up 
from  between  the  stones  of  a  prison  floor  and  unfold- 
ing new  beauties  every  day,  brought  comfort  to  a  pris- 
oner's heart  and  lightened  the  dreary  walls  of  his  cell. 
In  the  Pritchard  house  of  mourning,  a  little  child,  like 
the  prisoner's  flower,  was  the  comfort  and  sunshine  of 
its  inmates.  It  was  impossible  to  be  altogether  sad  in 
the  presence  of  Jack's  bright  face,  or  even  to  be  al- 
ways grave,  for  he  was  full  of  the  comicalities  inherent 
to  the  borderland  between  ignorance  and  knowledge. 
A  healthy,  happy  child,  life  to  him  was  one  elysian 
present,  with  no  past  to  regret  and  no  future  to  dread. 
In  very  pity,  one  hesitated  to  cloud  his  innocent  gayety 
with  tears  and  gloom.  "Wherever  he  came  with  his 
boyish  glee,  the  clouds  lifted,  and  there  seemed  to  be 
something  to  live  for,  after  all.  To  make  an  effort  for 
the  sake  of  others  is  one  step  towards  taking  up  life 
again  when  we  have  thought  to  lay  it  down  in  despair. 
Not  many  days  after  the  occupation  of  Richmond, 
Miss  Patty  received  a  letter  which  agitated  her 
greatly.  After  pondering  over  it  for  some  time,  she 
surprised  Mrs.  Key  by  insisting  on  getting  out  of  bed 
and  being  dressed.  Then  she  wanted  to  be  taken 
downstairs,  but  finding  she  was  too  weak  for  that,  she 


342  JACK  HORNER. 

consented  to  remain  in  her  own  room.  When  every- 
thing was  arranged  to  her  satisfaction,  and  she  had 
never  been  so  scrupulously  particular,  old  and  broken 
as  she  was,  she  said  to  her  niece,  — 

"  Madelaine,  there  is  one  duty  in  life  left  for  me  to 
perform,  and  I  hope  to  discharge  that  to-day." 

"Aunt,  while  life  lasts  you  wiU  find  duties,"  said 
Mrs.  Key,  wondering  whither  this  tended. 

"  I  have  received  a  note  from  General  Dorset,  ask- 
ing to  see  me  and  his  son  when  convenient  to  me." 

"  And  will  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  Yes.  You  know  I  have  always  intended  to  give 
him  up  to  his  father,  Avhoever  he  might  be,  when  the 
■war  ended,  and  now — everything  is  ended  for  me." 

"  Dear  aunt !  " 

"  It  —  it  "  —  stammered  the  old  lady. 

"  Will  it  not  be  too  much  for  you,  dear?  " 

"  Too  much  ?  Oh,  no,"  recovering  herself.  "  What 
has  to  be  done  has  to  be,  and  .the  sooner  it  is  over  the 
better,  so  I  have  appointed  one  o'clock  to-day." 

"  One  o'clock  !  "  cried  Madelaine,  aghast  at  the  sud- 
denness of  the  thing.     "  Why,  it  is  twelve  now." 

"So  much  the  better  for  me,"  not  knowing  how 
long  her  courage  would  hold  out.  "  Here  comes  the 
child  now,"  her  face  softening  at  the  sound  of  patter- 
ing feet. 

The  next  moment.  Jack,  who  was  now  hard  upon 
four,  fair  and  ruddy,  with  clear  brown  eyes  and  curly 
brown  head,  ran  into  the  room,  talking  to  himself  and 
all  who  chose  to  listen.  He  spoke  fairly  well  except 
for  the  stumbling  block  of  th,  which  he  lisped.  He 
held  a  ginger  cake  in  one  hand  and  an  apple  in  the 
other,  from  which  he  took  alternate  bites. 


JACK  HORNER.  343 

"  So  good  !  "  he  cried,  smacking  his  lips,  '•  want 
some?"  putting  them  to  Miss  Patty's  mouth  and 
Madelaine's. 

"Jack,''  said  Miss  Patty  solemnly,  stifling  the  sobs 
that  would  rise  when  she  thought  of  parting  with 
him. 

"  Yes  'm,"  eying  his  cake,  which  disappeared  faster 
than  his  apple. 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

"  Anozzer  time,"  said  Jack,  anticipating  something 
grave  from  the  tone  of  her  voice,  and  preparing  to  run 
away. 

"  Listen,  Jack,"  said  Mrs.  Key,  with  a  detaining 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

The  child  looked  up  in  her  face  and  smiled,  then, 
leaning  against  her  knee,  he  stopped  to  hear  what  Miss 
Patty  had  to  say. 

"Jack,  your  father  is  coming  to-day." 

Jack  paused  a  moment.  This  was  something  new 
to  him.     His  eyes  grew  round  and  big. 

"  Our  Farzer  in  Heaven  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  Jack,  your  papa." 

"  My  papa  ?  Have  I  got  a  papa  ?  "  he  cried,  dropping 
his  refreshments  in  Madelaine's  lap,  his  face  beaming 
with  delight. 

"  Yes,"  in  a  low,  broken  tone. 

"  A  papa  like  Ted  Brown's  and  ozzer  boys'  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"And  will  he  ride  me  on  his  back  and  give  me 
goodies  like  Ted's  papa  ?  "  frisking  about  and  clapping 
his  hands  in  the  wildest  spirits. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Patty,  bursting  into  tears.     This 


344  JACK  HORNER. 

unknown  father  was  already  drawing  the  child's  heart 
to  hin^self. 

"With  divine  instinct,  the  boy  ran  to  her  and  drew 
her  hands  from  her  eyes. 

"  Jack  love  you,  too." 

The  scene  was  too  much  for  Miss  Patty's  calmness, 
all  of  which  she  needed  for  the  coming  interview,  and 
Madelaine  led  the  hoy  out  of  the  room. 

When  they  reached  his  nurser}^,  he  fled  to  an  open 
window  which  overlooked  their  next  door  neighbors', 
the  Browns,  garden.  Ted  was  there,  happy  and  dirty, 
with  a  small  spade,  digging  up  worms. 

"  Ted  !  Ted  !  "  shouted  Jack,  swelling  with  pride, 
"  I  've  got  a  papa,  too." 

"  I  don't  b'lieve  yer,"  shouted  the  other,  who  enjoyed 
the  superiority  of  having  a  papa. 

"  I  '11  show  him  to  you  when  he  comes ;  and,  Ted," 
eagerly. 

''  What  ?  " 

"  Which  had  you  razzer  have,  a  papa  or  a  pony  ?  " 

This  was  a  poser.  Ted  stuck  his  spade  between  his 
knees  and  pondered. 

"  I  dunno." 

This  conversation  would  have  continued  indefinitely, 
but  that  Mrs.  Key  drew  Jack  from  the  window  to  put 
on  a  clean  frock  in  which  to  see  his  papa. 

At  one  o'clock,  Dorset  came.  He  had  been  counting 
the  minutes  until  the  hour  arrived.  When  he  was  shown 
into  the  old  familiar  parlor,  the  remembrance  of  the  past 
rushed  over  him  like  a  flood.  It  was  in  this  house  he 
had  first  seen  his  son  ;  here  he  had  met  Mrs.  Key  ;  here, 
when  a  stranger  and  at  death's  door,  he  had  been  ten- 


JACK  HORNER.  345 

clerly  nursed  back  to  life ;  above  all,  it  was  here  his 
outcast  boy  had  found  home  and  friends ;  and  now  he 
was  coming  back  as  one  of  the  conquering  enemy. 
What  was  he  to  say  ?     What  was  he  to  do  ? 

He  had  little  time  to  prepare  his  words,  for  he  had 
scarcely  entered  the  parlor  when  he  was  asked  to  walk 
up  to  Mss  Pritcliard's  room. 

Miss  Patty  was  alone  when  he  went  in.  -The  change 
which  had  come  over  her  since  they  parted  made  the 
interview  all  the  more  painful.  The  energetic,  cheer- 
ful soldier's  friend  was  a  shattered  old  woman,  with 
trembling  voice  and  hands.  She  tried  to  rise  when  he 
entered.  She  was  expecting  General  Dorset,  a  Fed- 
eral officer,  an  enemy,  invader,  conqueror,  but  the 
face  of  the  man  at  the  door  recalled  the  past  so  vividly 
as  to  banish  for  a  moment  the  present. 

"  Captain  Hardwick  !  "  she  faltered,  sinking  back  in 
her  chair. 

The  cry  was  a  keynote  which  struck  out  his  re- 
sponse.    It  came  rushing  to  his  lips  in  a  torrent. 

"  Yes,  Hardwick ;  "  coming  and  standing  humbly  be- 
fore her,  bis  voice  trembling  like  her  own.  "Y)u 
were  so  good  to  Hardwick  that,  wherever  his  brave 
spirit  is  to-day,  he  surely  is  grateful  for  your  intention. 
He  would  thank  you  as  I  thank  you  for  him  and  for 
myself.  But  it  is  not  Hardwick's  boy  to  whom  you 
have  given  a  home  and  a  mother's  care,  he  is  Dorset's ; 
and  Dorset  can  never  be  grateful  enough.  My  life 
spent  in  your  service  could  not  repay  your  goodness ; 
but  you  will  let  me  thank  you  ?  You  will  not  refuse 
my  gratitude  ?  You  will  not  always  turn  away  from 
me  ?  "  he  pleaded,  his  face  strongly  moved,  his  voice 
husky  with  tears. 


346  JACK  HORNER. 

This  was  not  the  interview  Miss  Patty  had  exjiected, 
—  a  man  more  agitated  than  herself,  deprecating  her 
coldness,  begging  her  favor  for  his  son's  sake.  It  was 
in  her  nature  to  forget  everything  but  the  individual 
suffering  before  her,  the  young  father  whose  soul 
yearned  and  was  in  travail  over  his  firstborn. 

"  You  have  come  for  your  boy  ?  "  she  said,  \Aih.  the 
same  gentleness  she  used  to  those  "other"  soldiers  in 
their  trouble. 

"  I  have  come  to  look  at  him,"  he  replied,  as  a  man 
dying  of  thirst  would  ask  for  a  drop  of  cool  water. 

"  You  knew  I  promised  God  and  myself  to  keep  him 
until  the  war  ended,  and  then  —  to  give  him  up.  He 
is  yours  now." 

"  May  I  not  see  him,  to  try  him?"  entreated  Dorset. 
''  He  may  not  want  to  come  to  me." 

Miss  Patty  touched  a  bell,  and  when  a  servant  came 
she  told  her  to  bring  "  Mtister  Jack." 

With  the  first  mention  of  his  name.  Jack,  whom 
Madelaine  held  on  her  knee  to  keep  him  still,  so  rest- 
less had  he  become  at  the  idea  of  seeing  his  papa, 
sprang  out  of  her  arms. 

'•  Come,  Aunt  Maddie,  let 's  go  and  see  my  farzer," 
he  cried  excitedly. 

"  No,  dear,  I  will  stay  here.  Good-by,  darling," 
showering  kisses  on  his  baby  mouth. 

"  Deed,  Miss  Madlin  you  'd  better  come,"  interposed 
the  servant.  "  Miss  Patty  look  like  she  gwine  to 
faint." 

Overwhelming  as  was  the  idea  of  meeting  Dorset 
again,  Madelaine  could  not  hesitate.  She  feared  every 
moment   for   her  aunt,    whose    hold    on    life   seemed 


JACK  HORNER.  347 

weaker  every  day,  and  to  whom  the  occasion  was  nec- 
essarily harrowing. 

Fresh  from  Jack's  kisses,  and  bkishing  all  over,  she 
slowly  followed  the  boy,  who  sped  like  a  dart  along  the 
passage  to  Miss  Patty's  door.  There  a  fit  of  shyness 
overtook  him.  He  held  back,  with  his  finger  in  his 
mouth,  and  peeped  in.  Seeing  a  big,  strong  man, 
with  bright  buttons  on  his  coat  and  love  in  his  eyes, 
holding  out  his  arms,  he  rushed  into  them,  and  father 
and  son  were  clasped  in  a  long,  speechless  embrace. 
Then  Jack,  who  felt  more  of  a  man  than  ever  with 
a  father  to  back  him,  insisted  on  being  put  down  to 
stand  on  his  own  legs.  Still  holding  his  father's  hand 
in  one  of  his,  as  if  he  never  intended  to  let  go,  with  the 
other  he  seized  Aunt  Maddie's,  being  not  disposed  to 
lose  one  adorer  because  he  had  found  another. 

As  his  little  hands  touched  the  hand  of  each,  he 
completed  a  chain  through  which  shot  a  thrill  that 
made  Dorset  and  Madelaine  tremble.  They  did  not 
dare  to  look  at  each  othex*.  Their  glance  centred  on 
Miss  Patty,  on  whose  pale  face  had  settled  the  peace  of 
perfect  renunciation.  Jack,  glancing  up  into  the  grave 
but  glowing  faces  of  the  two  friends  he  held  in  his 
grasp,  sighed  with  delight,  and  his  countenance  ra- 
diated with  the  self-satisfaction  of 

"  What  a  good  boy  am  I ! " 


21Torfi0  of  fiction. 


A  List  of  Novels  and  Stories,  selected 
from  the  Pitblications  of  Messrs. 
Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company, 
Boston  and  New  York, 


Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 

The  Story  of  a  Bad  Boy.  Illustrated.  i2mo, 
$1.25. 

Marjorie  Daw  and  Other  People.     Short  Sto- 
ries.    With  Frontispiece.     i2mo,  $1.50. 
Marjorie  Daw  and  Other  Stories.     In  River- 
side Aldine  Series.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

These  volumes  are  not  identical  in  contents. 

Prudence  Palfrey.    With  Frontispiece.     i2mo, 

$1.50. 

The  Queen  of  Sheba.      i2mo,  ^1.50;  paper, 

50  cents. 

The  Stillwater  Tragedy.     i2mo,  ^1.50. 
Lucia  True  Ames. 

Memoirs  of  a  Millionaire.      i6rao. 

Hans  Christian  Andersen. 

Works.  First  Complete  Edition  in  English. 
In  ten  uniform  volumes,  izmo,  each  $1.00;  the  set, 
$10.00;  half  calf,  $25.00. 

The  Improvisatore ;  or,  Life  in  Italy. 

The  Two  Baronesses. 

O.  T. ;  or,  Life  in  Denmark. 

Only  a  Fiddler. 


Morfes;  of  jfktion 


In  Spain  and  Portugal. 

A  Poet's  Bazaar.     A  Picturesque  Tour. 

Pictures  of  Travel 

The  Story  of  my  Life.     With  Portrait. 

Wonder  Stories  told  for  Children.     Illustrated. 

Stories  and  Tales.     Illustrated. 

Jane  G.  Austin. 

A  Nameless  Nobleman.  i6mo,  $i.oo;  paper, 
50  cents. 

The  Desmond  Hundred.  i6mo,  $1.00  ;  paper, 
50  cents. 

The  strongest  American  novel  that  has  been  produced  for  many 
a  year. —  T/ie  ChurcJunan  (New  York). 

Standish  of  Standish.      i6mo. 

Arlo  Bates. 

The  Philistines.      i6mo,  $1.50. 

It  has  many  strong  situations,  much  admirable  dialogue,  and  we 
consider  it  decidedly  the  best  thing  Mr.  Bates  has  yet  done.  — 
New  York  Tribune. 

Patty's    Perversities.       i6mo,   $1.00;    paper, 

50  cents. 

The  Pagans.     i6mo,  $1.00;  paper,  50  cents. 

"Edward  Bellamy. 

Miss  Ludington's  Sister.  i6mo,  $1.25  ;  paper, 
50  cents. 

Looking  Backward  :  2000-1887.  i2mo,  ^1.50  ; 
paper,  50  cents. 

Ein  Riickblick  (Looking  Backward).  Trans- 
lated into  German  by  Rabbi  Solomon  Schindler. 
l6mo,  paper,  50  cents. 

"  Looking  Backward  "  is  a  well-made  book,  but  it  is  more  —  a 
glowing  prophecy  and  a  gospel  of  peace.  He  who  reads  it  expect- 
mg  merely  to  be  entertained,  must,  we  should  think,  find  himself 
unexpectedly  haunted  by  visions  of  a  golden  age  wherein  all  the 
world  unites  to  do  the  world's  work  like  members  of  one  family. 


^orfesf  of  i?ictton 


where  labor  and  living  are  provided  for  each  man,  where  toil  and 
leisure  alternate  in  happy  proportions,  where  want  and  therefore 
greed  and  jealousy  are  unknown,  where  the  pleasures  of  this  world 
are  free  to  all,  to  cheer,  but  not  to  enslave.  —  The  Nation  (New 
York). 
Mr.  Bellamy's  wonderful  book.  —  Edward  Everett  Hale. 

William  Henry  Bishop. 

Detmold  :  A  Romance.     i8mo,  ^1.25. 

The  House  of  a  Merchant  Prince.      i2mo, 

$1.50. 

Choy  Susan,  and  other  Stories.  i6mo,  $1.25. 
The  Golden  Justice.      i6mo,  $1.25. 

Mr.  W.  D.  Howells,  in  Harper'' s  Monthly^  praises  this  volume 
highly,  saying :  "  As  a  study  of  a  prosperous  western  city,  this 
picture  of  Keewaydin  is  unique  in  our  Hterature."  He  adds  that 
"  it  is  full  of  traits  of  mastery  which  cannot  leave  any  critic  doubt- 
ful of  Mr.  Bishop's  power." 

Bjornstjerne  Bjornson. 

Novels.  American  Edition.  Translated  by- 
Prof.  R.  B.  Anderson.  Including  Synnove  Solbak- 
ken,  Arne,  The  Bridal  March,  A  Happy  Boy,  The 
Fisher  Maiden,  Captain  Mansana,  and  Magnhild. 
Illustrated.     In  3  volumes,  i2mo,  I4.50. 

The  Bridal  March,  and  other  Stories.  Illus- 
trated.    i6mo,  $1.00. 

Captain  Mansana,  and  other  Stories.  i6mo, 
%  1 .00. 

Magnhild.      i6mo,  ^i.oo. 

Alice  Brown. 

Fools  of  Nature.  i2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50 
cents. 

Helen  Dawes  Brown. 

Two  College  Girls.  i2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50 
cents. 


OTorfes  of  jfktion 


H.  C.  Bunner. 

A  Woman  of  Honor.     i6mo,  ^1.25  ;  paper,  50 
cents. 

The  dialogue  is  crisp  and  sparkling,  as  might  be  expected  from 
the  witty  editor  of  Puck.  —  PhiladelJ>hia  Press. 

Clara  Louise  Burnham. 

Young  Maids  and   Old.        i2mo,  $1.50. 

Mrs.  Burnham  has  the  flavor  of  Miss   Mitford,  with  a  humor 
and  brightness  particularly  her  own.  —  Christian  Leader. 

Next  Door.     i2mo,  ^1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 

Edwin  Lassetter  Bynner. 

Agnes  Surriage.   1 2mo,  ;$  i .  50 ;  paper,  50  cents. 

We  congratulate  the  author  on  a  well-earned  success,  and  the 
reader  on  an  unusual  pleasure. —  T.  B.  Aldrich. 

Penelope's  Suitors.     24mo,  50  cents. 
Damen's  Ghost.    i6mo,  ;$i.oo;  paper,  50  cents. 

Helen  Campbell. 

Under    Green    Apple  -  Boughs,      Illustrated. 
i6mo,  paper,  50  cents. 

Alice  Cary. 

Pictures    of    Country   Life.       Short    Stories. 
i2mo,  $1.50. 

Mrs.  L.  W.  Champney. 

Rosemary  and    Rue.       i6mo,  $1.00;    paper, 
50  cents. 

Clara  Erskine  Clement. 

Eleanor     Maitland.        i6mo,    ^1.25  ;    paper, 
50  cents. 


Morfesf  of  j^ittion 


Mary  Clemmer. 

His  Two  Wives.    i2mo,  ^1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 

An  absorbing  love  story  —  a  portrayal  of  life  held  amenable  to 
the  lofty  and  poetic  ideal.  —  Boston  Traveller. 

John  Esten  Cooke. 

Fanchette.     i6mo,  $1.00;  paper,  50  cents. 
My  Lady  Pokahontas.     i6mo,  gilt  top,  $1.25. 

The  narrative  of  Pokahontas  has  never  been  so  deliciously  pre- 
sented. —  Quebec  Chrotiicle. 

Rose  Terry  Cooke. 

Somebody's  Neighbors.   Stories.   12010,^1.50; 

half  calf,  $3.00. 

Happy  Dodd.     i2mo,  ^1.50. 

The  Sphinx's  Children.   Stories.    i2mo,  $1.50. 

Steadfast.     i2mo,  $1.50. 

This  story  is  one  of  Mrs.  Cooke's  masterpieces.  ..."  Stead- 
fast," with  its  treatment  of  the  old  orthodox  question  in  the  old 
days,  backed  as  it  is  by  history,  will  come  in  on  the  tide  of  inter- 
est with  a  new  flavor,  which  must  lead  on  to  popularity. —  Nora 
Perry. 

James  Fenimore  Cooper. 

Works.      New  Household  Edition.      With  In- 
troductions to  many  of  the  volumes  by  Susan  Feni- 
more Cooper,  and  Illustrations.    In  32  volumes.    Each, 
i6mo,  $1.00;  the  set,  $32.00;  half  calf,  $64.00. 
Precaution.  Afloat  and  Ashore. 

The  Spy.  The  Prairie. 

The  Pioneers.  Wept  of  Wish-ton-Wish. 

The  Pathfinder.  The  Water-Witch. 

Mercedes  of  Castile.  The  Bravo. 

The  Deerslayer.  Red  Rover. 

The  Red  Skins.  Homeward  Bound. 

The  Chainbearer.  Home  as  Found. 

Satanstoe.  The  Heidenmauer. 

The  Crater.  The  Headsman. 


Morfesf  of  iriction 


The  Two  Admirals.  The  Monikins. 

The  Pilot.  Miles  Wallingford. 

Lionel  Lincoln.  Jack  Tier. 

Last  of  the  Mohicans.  The  Sea  Lions. 

Wing  and  Wing.  Oak  Openings. 

Wyandotte.  Ways  of  the  Hour. 

Fireside  Edition.  With  Portrait,  Introduc- 
tions, and  43  Illustrations.  In  16  vols.  i2mo,  gi 20.00  ; 
half  calf,  $40.00,     {Sold  only  in  sets.) 

Sea  Tales.  First  Series.  New  Household 
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Cooper.  Illustrated.  In  5  volumes,  the  set,  i6mo, 
$5.00  ;  half  calf,  $10.00. 

Sea  Tales.  Second  Series.  New  Household 
Edition.  With  Introductions  by  Susan  Fenimore 
Cooper.  Illustrated.  In  5  volumes,  the  set,  i6mo, 
$5.00;  half  calf,  $10.00. 

Leather  Stocking  Tales.  New  Household 
Edition.  With  Portrait,  Introductions,  and  Illustra- 
tions.   In  5  vols.,  the  set,  i6mo,  $5.00  ;  half  calf,  $10.00. 

Cooper  Stories.  Narratives  of  Adventure 
selected  from  Cooper's  Works.  Illustrated.  Stories 
of  the  Prairie.  Stories  of  the  Woods.  Stories  of  the 
Sea.     3  vols.  i6mo,  $1.00  each  ;  the  set,  $3.00. 

Charles  Egbert  Craddock  [Mary  N. 

Murfree]. 

In  the  Tennessee  Mountains.     Short  Stories. 
Eighteenth  Edition.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
Mr.  Craddock  is  a  master  of  the  art  of  description.  .  .  .  The 
style  is  admirable.  —  The  Nation  (New  York). 

Down  the  Ravine.  For  Young  People. 
Illustrated.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

The  Prophet  of  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains. 
14th  Thousand.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

In  the  Clouds.     i6mo,  $1.25. 


motU  of  i?iftion 


The  Story  of  Keedon  Bluffs.     i6mo,  ^i.oo. 

The  Despot  of   Broomsedge    Cove.      i6mo, 

$1.25. 

The  essential  part,  the  treatment  of  the  human  problem,  is  char- 
acterized by  real  power,  —  the  power  of  divining  motives  and  pier- 
cing through  contradictions.  Not  the  hero  of  "  Where  the  Battle 
was  Fought"  is  so  intensely  vital  a  study  as  Teck  Jepson.  Th» 
side-lights  are  not  the  least  striking  elements  in  Miss  Murfree's 
art.  —  Springfield  Republican. 

Where  the  Battle  was  Fought.      i2mo,  ^1.50. 

Thomas  Frederick  Crane  (translator). 

Italian    Popular   Tales.     With    Introduction, 

Bibliography,  Notes,  etc.     8vo,  gilt  top,  $2.50. 

F.  Marion  Crawford. 
To  Leeward.     i6mo,  ^1.25. 
A  Roman  Singer.      i6mo,  ^1.25. 

The  most  interesting,  captivating,  and  masterly  of  Mr.  Craw- 
ford's books.  —  The  Week  (Toronto). 

An  American  Politician.      i6mo,  $1.25. 
Paul  Patoff.    -Crown  8vo,  ^1.50. 

Maria  S.  Cummins. 

The    Lamplighter.      New    Popular  Edition. 

i2mo,  $1.00;  paper,  25  cents. 

El  Fureidis.     A  Story  of  Palestine  and  Syria. 
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Mabel  Vaughan.      i2mo,  $1.50. 
Czeika. 

An  Operetta  in  Profile.     i6mo,  ^i.oo. 

Madeleine  Vinton  Dahlgren. 

A  Washington  Winter.      i2mo,  ^1.50. 
The  Lost  Name.     i6mo,  $1.00. 


8  Worfe0  of  i?iction 

Katharine  Floyd  Dana. 

Our    Phil,   and    other    Stories.       Illustrated. 
i6mo,  $1.25. 

All  so  true  to  life,  so  simple,  touching,  and  so  real,  as  to  be  as 
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—  New  Haven  Palladhim. 

Parke  Danforth. 

Not  in  the  Prospectus.      i6mo,  $1.25. 

Charming  in  style,  .  .  .  and  altogether  as  happy  a  story  as  we 
have  read  for  a  long  time.  —  New  York  Times. 

Daniel  De  Foe. 

Robinson  Crusoe.     Illustrated.      i2mo,  $1.00. 

Margaret  Deland. 

John  Ward,  Preacher.    47th  Thousand.    i2mo, 

551.50  ;  paper,  50  cents. 

There  are  pages  in  it  which,  in  their  power  of  insight  and  skill 
in  minute  delineation,  remind  us  of  Thackeray ;  while  the  pic- 
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charming  tale  of  "  Cranford."  But  "  John  Ward  "  is  no  mere  fu- 
gitive story.  Behind  the  story  lie  some  of  the  deepest  problems 
which  beset  our  life.  —  Archdeacon  Farrar. 

P.  Deming. 

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There  is  a  deep  and  wonderful  art  in  these  quiet  little  tales.  — 
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Thomas  De  Quincey. 

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Charles  Dickens. 

Complete  Works.      Illustj-atsd  Library  Edi- 
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Morfes;  of  iftctton 


by  E.  P.  Whipple.     Containing  all  the    Illustrations 

that  appeared  in  the  English  edition  by  Cruikshank, 

John  Leech,  and  others,  engraved  on  steel,  and  the 

designs  of  F.  O.  C.  Darley  and  John  Gilbert,  in  all 

over  550.     In  29  volumes,  each,  i2mo,  $1.50;  the  set, 

with    Dickens   Dictionary,   30  volumes,  $45.00;   half 

calf,  $82.50. 

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Barnaby  Rudge,  and  Hard  Times,  2  vols. 

Pictures  from  Italy,  and  American  Notes,  i  vol. 

Bleak  House,  2  vols. 

Little  Dorrit,  2  vols. 

David  Copperfield,  2  vols. 

Martin  Chuzzlewit,  2  vols. 

Our  Mutual  Friend,  2  vols. 

The  Uncommercial  Traveller,  i  vol. 

A  Child's  History  of  England,  and  other  Pieces,  I  vol. 

Christmas  Books,  i  vol. 

Dombey  and  Son,  2  vols. 

Tale  of  Two  Cities,  i  vol. 

Great  Expectations,  i  vol. 

Mystery  of  Edwin  Drood,  Master  Humphrey's  Clock, 

and  other  Pieces,  i  vol. 
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Charlotte  Dunning. 

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and  charm." 


10  OTorfes!  of  Mttion 

Edgar  Favvcett. 

A  Hopeless  Case.*    i8mo,  $1.25. 

We  know  of  no  English  novel  of  the  last  few  years  fit  to  be 
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interest.  —  London  Times. 

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12  Worfesf  of  pinion 

Henry  Gr6ville  is  idyllic,  in  the  sense  that  most  of  her  stories 
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^USaorfesf  of  Sfittion  13 


Nights  with  Uncle  Remus.   lUustrated.    121110, 
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14  WorfeB  of  Sfiaion 


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tUSJorfefif  of  jfittion  1 5 


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1 8  mot^&  of  ifiction 

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Morfesf  of  fiction  19 


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^orfesf  of  i?ictiou  21 

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Morfe0  of  fiction  27 

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Morfes;  of  ftiction  29 

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Worfeflf  of  iptctton  31 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray. 

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32  Worbsi  of  iriction 

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Morfes;  of  i?tction  35 

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Morfefif  of  j^iction  35 

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